


Let's Go to Perfect Places

by eternalsunshine13



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author!Yuuri, But They are Not Rivals, Enemies to Lovers, Famous!Yuuri, FanFic Writer!Victor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Role Reversal, Writer AU, Yuuri's biggest fan!Victor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-11-18 14:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11292855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsunshine13/pseuds/eternalsunshine13
Summary: In his mind, Victor had pictured Yuuri in a bespoke suit, cigar in one hand, martini in the other, made with the finest gin and vermouth, a squeeze of lemon and the tears of his readers.--Famed author Yuuri Katsuki’s bestsellingIce Princetrilogy took the world by storm. But that was over five years ago. He hasn’t written a word since.Victor Nikiforov might have had something to do with that. Katsuki’s biggest fan, he was unsatisfied with the way the series ended. Under a pseudonym, he published a fic with an alternate ending that spread like wildfire, with many fans saying it was better than the original. But Victor never expected Yuuri to actually respond online, sparking a war that ripped the fandom apart.Now working as a temp in NYC five years later, Victor is sent to the residence of a reclusive author with a bad case of writer's block…





	1. Hard feelings—these are what they call hard feelings

Victor needed the money. Otherwise, he would’ve turned around and marched right out of Yuuri Katsuki’s apartment. He thought briefly about calling the temp agency, but after six months of working for them, he had a feeling they would be rather unsympathetic. And he’d already been there for an hour before he even knew it was Yuuri Katsuki’s home. Might as well get paid for it.

Phichit had been the one to open the door when Victor arrived, the one who spent the last hour running around the apartment showing him where everything was and explaining what was expected of him. Then, at the very end of the tour, Phichit casually asked if the temp agency had told Victor the name of the writer he’d be assisting that day.

“No,” Victor said, curious.

“God, I really hope you’re not a crazy fan. The last two they sent—never mind.” Phichit sighed.

A lot of writers lived in New York, a lot of famous ones. It was part of the reason why Victor moved there. Everything was _happening_ in the city. It was the epicenter of art. At least that’s what it felt like. And even after six months of shitty temp assignments and barely scraping by, he still loved it, couldn’t see himself leaving for anything. 

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Yuuri Katsuki.”

Victor’s mind short-circuited. He parted his lips to speak but nothing came out.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him?” Phichit said, jaw dropping. “ _Ice Prince_? _Cold Kingdoms_? _Frozen Dawn_?”

Victor blinked, trying to wipe the blank expression off his face. “Oh, right.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Phichit shook his head in disbelief. “You really haven’t heard of him? Wow, Yuuri’s going to love you.”

Victor almost walked out right then and there.

“It hasn’t been easy for him, since the books blew up. And what with the third movie coming out soon. He’s had a hard time trusting anyone. It can be isolating, that kind of attention, you know?”

Victor doubted it. He looked around the apartment. The grand entrance, fancy kitchen, high ceilings, spacious living room, and at least three bedrooms, if he had to guess. Poor Yuuri Katsuki, bestselling author. Even without their history, Victor would’ve rolled his eyes at what Phichit said. Anyone would kill to have what Yuuri Katsuki had, Victor included.

“Alright, I have to go,” Phichit said, reaching for his coat. “I left my number on the desk, text if you’re confused about something. Do you have any questions?” 

“No,” Victor said, looking down at the floor. It was all very simple, really. Answer fan mail, manage his calendar, run a couple of errands, make sure he didn’t miss any appointments. The last one was very important, Phichit had said, sighing. Apparently Yuuri had a habit of “forgetting” them. Victor was going to spend the day being nothing more than a glorified babysitter.

“Tea?” Yuuri walked in from the kitchen, startling Victor, who turned away quickly, avoiding eye contact. Had Yuuri been in the kitchen the whole time? Or did he wake up just now and Victor hadn’t noticed?

“None for me,” Phichit said, wrapping his scarf around his neck, heading to the door. “I’ll be back around three.”

Yuuri sighed, leaning against the wall looking downcast. “I’m going to miss you.”

Victor looked up in surprise, eyes traveling between the two of them, trying to decipher what they were to one another. He had assumed that Phichit was just Yuuri’s assistant but maybe he was wrong.

“It’s only six hours,” Phichit said, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“It’s not that,” Yuuri said quietly.

Phichit walked over and hugged him tight. “I know. But don’t worry. We’ll find you someone amazing before I leave. You won’t even know I’m gone.”

Yuuri laughed half-heartedly. “Alright, go, go. Before you’re late.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Phichit said before turning to Victor. “Just text me if you have any questions.” And then he was gone, leaving Victor to fend for himself in Yuuri Katsuki’s living room.

“Tea?” Yuuri offered again and for a moment Victor thought he saw Yuuri blush.

“No, thanks,” he said politely. “I should probably get started.”

“Right. Okay.”

Yuuri’s office was small, with two desks that faced each other taking up most of the space. Luckily, Yuuri hadn’t followed Victor in, giving him some time to catch his breath. He could do this, he told himself. It was by far the easiest gig he’d landed so far.

There was no way Yuuri knew who he was, and honestly, all of that was five years ago. Ancient history. He was over it. Completely over it.

Victor started with email, it seemed easy enough. Phichit explained that for fan mail, there were a few pre-written canned responses he could use. For anything that required more personalization, Victor was to write up a response and leave it in drafts for Phichit to look over later. Anything that needed Yuuri’s attention—emails from his agent Celestino, the movie producers, etc.—Victor was to tag with a blue star and mark unread.

Victor cleared through all the fan mail within an hour. He was surprised by the large number of fans who still wrote to Yuuri, so long after the books were published. “I guess it’s the movie,” he said softly to himself as he hit send on the last one.

“Yeah, sorry,” Yuuri said, casually leaning against the door frame and startling Victor for the second time that morning.

“Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Victor said.

“Oh, sorry. Phichit says I’m too quiet. He says he’s going to buy a bell to tie around my wrist so he can hear me.” That wasn’t what Victor had expected him to say. Yuuri was so apologetic, his smile so self-deprecating, it was disarming.

“It’s fine,” Victor said, eyes turning back to the screen.

Entering the office, Yuuri sat at the desk across from him, put down his oversized mug and took a deep breath before turning on his laptop.

Victor focused on the rest of Yuuri’s inbox. There were several old emails from Celestino asking if Yuuri was alive. Many more emails from the producers begging Yuuri to go over and okay the publicity tour schedule so the studio could book his flights. Victor marked them all with a blue star.

“Hey,” Yuuri said. “You hungry? Want something to drink? Let me know if you need anything.”

Victor just stared at him. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“Oh.” Yuuri looked embarrassed. “I guess.”

“So…do you need anything?” Victor asked politely. When Yuuri didn’t answer, he turned back to his screen.

“You could write this stupid book for me,” Yuuri said under his breath, then sighed.

From Celestino’s last email, Victor knew Yuuri had promised to send over the first chapters of a new book—over a year ago.

Yuuri looked up. “Sorry,” he said, apologizing again. “I’m distracting you.”

“No, it’s okay,” Victor said. “Writer’s block?”

He nodded.

“For how long?”

Yuuri shrugged. “Six years? Seven? I’ve lost track.” He stared out of the window, looking glum.

“Is there—is there anything I can do to help?” Victor asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“Not really. Sometimes I just, I don’t know, wish I’d never written those books.”

“ _What?_ ” Victor was shocked. He cleared his throat and tried to get his voice under control. “Are you serious?”

Yuuri nodded with conviction.

“You can’t believe that,” Victor said, momentarily forgetting that he hated Yuuri Katsuki, bestselling author and asshole extraordinaire. “Your books, they’ve changed people’s lives, they—”

“You’ve read them?”

“Um, no,” Victor lied. “But everyone’s heard of the _Ice Prince_ trilogy, which means it’s impacted a lot of people.” He hadn’t touched the books in years, but he could still remember the astonishment and pure _wonder_ he’d felt when he read the first one, could still remember staying up all night when the second and third books came out. He remembered how he cried like a baby at each one. The visceral pain in his chest. He hadn’t touched the books in years, but he’d read them so many times, the words—Yuuri’s words—might as well have been burned onto his heart.

Yuuri just shook his head.

 _You’re amazing!_ Victor wanted to shout at him. _How can you say that?_

“If I hadn’t written them, maybe I’d still be writing now,” Yuuri said sadly. “Anyway, sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. You’re really nice to let me babble.”

“It’s…fine.” Victor returned to clearing out Yuuri’s inbox but kept glancing over his monitor at Yuuri, who rested his chin against his palm staring down at his laptop, almost desperately. Shake it off, Victor told himself. _Don’t forget._ Not that he could.

Yuuri Katsuki didn’t deserve his sympathy. Yuuri Katsuki had been _everything_ to him once upon a time. Victor had idolized him, worshipped him, believed he could do no wrong. Then, Yuuri Katsuki, famous author, went out of his way to destroy him, a nobody. It was hard for Victor to reconcile that Yuuri Katsuki to the one who sat before him now, the one who apologized too much and who seemed to be drowning under the weight of everyone’s expectations.

But he hadn’t been wrong, couldn’t possibly have been wrong about Yuuri. Even though it’d been five years, Victor still remembered every detail, every single word Yuuri had said to him. _Your writing’s little better than horseshit._ Victor cried for days after reading that. He was seventeen at the time and _Frozen Dawn_ , the third and final book of the series, had just come out. He went to one of the midnight release parties like everybody else. He stayed up devouring it, heartsick over the tragic ending.

Then he went to his laptop, wrote a one-shot with an alternate ending, and posted it before collapsing onto his bed for some much needed sleep.

Victor was the unofficial king of the _Ice Prince_ fandom. His fics were so popular they inspired a fandom within the fandom. He dedicated nearly all of his free time to writing fics, responding to every single comment and question, welcoming and guiding new fans, chatting with other writers and artists in the fandom. He moderated and managed disputes before they got out of hand, including the infamous Spelling War over the portmanteau of one of the more popular ships. The _Ice Prince_ trilogy didn’t just take up a lot of time in his life, it _was_ his life.

So when Victor woke up the next day, he wasn’t surprised that his tumblr and twitter had blown up. That was to be expected—the third and final book had just come out. He ignored all the notifications, taking a shower and getting something to eat first. It wasn’t until after his fandom husband texted him directly that he found out that Yuuri Katsuki, the elusive, publicity-shy author of the _Ice Prince_ trilogy, had personally written a response to his fanfic.

If Victor was king of the fandom, Yuuri was God.

And God was not happy.

* * *

 Yuuri’s first appointment that day was lunch with his agent Celestino, but by noon, Yuuri was still in sweats and made no move to get dressed despite Victor’s many reminders. When the phone rang, Yuuri just stared at it, then looked pleadingly at Victor. “Answer it for me?” he said, handing over his cell.

“What do you want me to say?” Victor asked, incredulous, staring down at Celestino’s name.

“I don’t know, make up something. Tell him I have a stomachache, tell him I’m sorry,” Yuuri said in a rush, biting his lower lip. 

“H-hello,” Victor said, answering the call. “Yuuri Katsuki’s phone, Victor speaking.” He managed a smooth voice, trained from months of filling in for sick receptionists all over the city.

“Who the hell are you? Where’s Phichit?” Celestino demanded.

“He’s out right now—”

“Out? Oh. He must be getting his visa paperwork in order.”

“Um—”

“I know Yuuri’s there. Why don’t you just hand him the phone?” Celestino said.

“He has a stomachache,” Victor said, looking up at Yuuri, their eyes locking: wide blue eyes staring at frightened brown ones.

“Unless he’s puking his guts out this very second, he—”

Yuuri shook his head frantically, mouthing the words “hang up, hang up, hang up” at Victor.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said, voice still calm. “He can’t come to the phone. I’ll make sure he gets your message.” He ended the call and let go of the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said, looking relieved.

“No problem.” Their eyes met again for a moment before Yuuri looked away, shy.

“You probably think I’m insane.”

Victor was about to protest out of politeness but stopped himself. He didn’t really know what to say, didn’t know what to make of this Yuuri Katsuki. At his lowest point five years ago, Victor could never have imagined Yuuri like this. In his mind, Yuuri was confident, brash, full of himself. In his mind, Victor had pictured Yuuri in a bespoke suit, cigar in one hand, martini in the other, made with the finest gin and vermouth, a squeeze of lemon and the tears of his readers.

“No,” Victor said slowly. “I don’t think you’re insane.”

Yuuri smiled faintly and stared out of the window at the busy street below, letting the subject drop.

Victor found himself distracted, unable to focus on whatever it was he was supposed to do. Oh, right, organizing invoices and filling out checks for Phichit to review and Yuuri to sign. Just as he was about to get started, he heard loud banging at the front door and Celestino’s muffled voice: “Yuuri! I know you’re in there! Open the door!”

“Fuck,” Yuuri said, looking panicked. “Okay, stall for me? Tell him I can’t see him.”

“What—” Victor began but Yuuri all but bolted out of the office.

“I’m not leaving until you open the door!” Celestino kept yelling. “Yuuri! Come on, we need to talk—”

Victor pulled the door open, quickly stepping back to let him in.

“Who are you?”

“Victor. We spoke on the phone?”

“Oh. Phichit’s not back yet? Where’s Yuuri?”

“He’s not feeling well,” Victor said, but it sounded almost like a question.

Celestino sighed, pushing past him and heading in the same direction Victor saw Yuuri disappear down. Then the banging on the door started up once more, against what could only be Yuuri’s bedroom.

It was time to text Phichit.

V: Hey sorry to bother you but Yuuri’s agent is here and Yuuri’s holed up in his bedroom

V: I’m not sure what to do

Phichit answered almost immediately.

P: Okay, don’t panic

V: I’m not panicking

P: Sorry that’s not what I meant. Just hold on, I’ll call his agent.

Celestino’s phone went off. “Hi Phichit. Uh-huh. What do you mean—uh-huh. Okay. Alright.” He sighed. “I’m leaving, Yuuri, but we _will_ have that talk. Look, I don’t care if you don’t have new pages, you know that right? I’m just worried about you, holed up here all the time.” There was no response and Celestino left, walking past Victor without a word. 

Victor’s phone buzzed.

P: Hey I’m on my way. Can you just sit with him?

V: What?

P: Yeah. Just sit with him.

V: I think he’s locked himself in his room?

P: Just sit on the other side of the door.

Victor took a deep breath and walked down the hall, slumping against the bedroom door and sliding down to sit on the floor. He hoped he made enough noise to let Yuuri know he was there. He could hear Yuuri on the other side, taking shallow breaths. “Yuuri?” he asked quietly. He’d been wrong earlier—this was not an easy gig. This was by far the hardest job he’d taken.

The sound of shallow breathing continued without interruption.

“I’m just going to sit here, okay?” Victor said, keeping his voice soft.

After what felt like eons, a reply: “Okay.”

Phichit arrived forty minutes later, hair disheveled and panting. “Thanks,” he told Victor.

Victor watched him knock softly on the door and left when the door opened for Phichit. He didn’t head back into the office, going into the kitchen to make himself some tea instead. Hunting for jam in the fridge, Victor caught the sound Yuuri’s bedroom door opening and clicking closed, one set of footsteps coming down the hall.

“Hey,” Phichit said, finding him in the kitchen.

“Hey.”

Phichit looked extremely uncomfortable, staring at the floor and then at the kettle on the stove. “We need to talk.”

They went into the office, closed the door.

“What just happened was—” Phichit stopped, pausing as if searching for the right words. “I would like it if we kept it under wraps.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Victor said. “If that’s what you’re worried about. I mean, I signed a pretty comprehensive non-disclosure with the agency but I wouldn’t say anything even if I hadn’t. I wouldn’t do that.”

Their eyes met and Phichit sighed in relief. “Okay. I didn’t think you would but I had to check.”

Victor had so many questions. Yuuri hadn’t done much press in the last few years, but back when the books were still coming out, and then the first movie, he was everywhere. Daytime talk shows, interviews in all the major magazines, mobs of fans at every signing and red carpet event. He’d been named one of _Time_ magazine’s most influential people, one of _People_ magazine’s most beautiful people, featured in a _WSJ_ thirty-under-thirty piece. Yuuri had always looked so cool and collected, confident and charming. Aloof, untouchable. Even under the barrage of camera flashes and screaming fans, Yuuri had always worn a smile, stood outside in bad weather to sign as many books as he could. He answered questions with seeming ease, cracking jokes with reporters, the camera crew. He was always _on_. He took everyone’s breath away. He burned bright and no one could look away, least of all Victor.

And now as Phichit reviewed the work he’d done in the morning—the drafts and invoices—Victor sat in Yuuri’s office chair staring out of the window, at the sudden appearance of gray clouds. He’d spent his childhood in St. Petersburg, where his parents still lived, attended an elite international school in Paris, and finally college in the US. He spoke perfect Russian, French, and English but idiomatic expressions in his non-native languages would always remain a mystery. What was the one about dark clouds that Americans liked to use? Something about a silver lining. It honestly never made any sense to him, but as he stared at the mournful sky, Victor was reminded of the saying and he imagined that just beyond the gunmetal gray existed a shimmering silver within each and every storm cloud.

He wondered if Yuuri Katsuki was like that but in reverse. That underneath all the confidence and smiles there had been something else altogether.

* * *

The next appointment on Yuuri’s calendar was for someone named Jordan Richards, at 2PM. Phichit had told Victor to take a break after complimenting him on his work and when he came back from lunch, the apartment was completely quiet. At his desk, he quickly went through new emails, one of which was from Celestino, asking to reschedule lunch. Victor checked Yuuri’s largely empty calendar and emailed back to set a date for the following week. There wasn’t much else to do and at 1:45, he walked to the other end of the apartment and knocked on Yuuri’s bedroom door.

“Come in,” Phichit said.

They were sitting in bed against the heavy headboard and watching TV, Yuuri’s head on Phichit’s shoulder, and Victor looked at the floor, feeling awkward.

“Sorry to interrupt. You have an appointment in fifteen minutes.”

“What?” Yuuri said.

“It must be one of the interviews,” Phichit said. “Thanks Victor.” It was a clear dismissal and Victor closed the door.

“Let’s cancel it.” Yuuri’s voice.

Victor paused out in the hallway, turning to go but not moving.

Phichit sighed.

“No. I’m leaving in less than two weeks. What are you going to do then?”

“Buy a flat in London,” Yuuri answered. “I can work anywhere. Or more accurately, I can continue pretending to work anywhere.”

If Phichit was leaving in two weeks and trying to find Yuuri an assistant, then Victor could only conclude that they weren’t romantically involved. Not that it mattered, he thought, catching himself.

“As much as I’d love that, I doubt you’d like it there much. I’ll be living with other dancers and at practice or rehearsal all the time. And it’s not like I can go with you on the press tour this time.”

“I know,” Yuuri said quietly.

“What about Victor?” Phichit said suddenly and Victor almost jumped at the sound of his name.

“What about him?”

“Why don’t you just hire him? He seems great. Very professional.”

“No,” Yuuri said, and Victor’s heart sank before he remembered how he’d wanted to bolt only hours ago.

“What’s wrong? Is he a fan or something?”

“No. If anything, I think he hates me.”

Victor frowned, wracking his brain. Why the hell would Yuuri think that he hated him? Had he said something, done something? Maybe Yuuri could sense it, a bitterness underneath Victor’s polite veneer that was impossible to hide. A wound from five years ago that never healed right, an ugly scar that would never fade.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not,” Yuuri said.

“He seems smart. And efficient. And doesn’t take bullshit. He’s perfect.”

“No, he’s not!”

“What, is he too hot?” Phichit teased and Victor could feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

“What?” Yuuri said. “No, that’s not it!”

“Mhmm,” was all Phichit said.

Victor tore himself away from the door and silently left, stopping in the kitchen for more tea. As he waited for the water to boil, he pushed against the counters, propping himself up and hanging his head, his hair sweeping across his line of vision. He should leave. Right now. Go back to his apartment and wait for Chris to come home. Pop open a bottle of cheap wine and talk this all out. It’d been a surreal day. 

The sound of someone knocking against the door pulled him out of it. He shook his head and walked briskly to open the door.

“Hi, I’m Jordan,” the young man said, reaching out a hand.

“Come in. Would you mind waiting a moment?” He went back down the hallway but before he reached the bedroom, the door opened and Yuuri emerged, no longer in loose, comfortable clothing. He’d taken a shower, dressed in dark, slim jeans and a soft blue oxford, hair slicked back like Victor had seen it styled at signings and events. The only things that remained unchanged were his blue framed glasses and the warm brown eyes behind them.

They did the interview in the living room, and even with the French doors shut, Victor could hear every word. Jordan Richards was clearly a huge fan, ready to sign his soul away for the job of running errands for Yuuri Katsuki. After about fifteen minutes, Phichit thanked him for coming and showed him the door. There were two others in the afternoon. Both were fans, and one was an aspiring novelist who had the audacity to bring a manuscript with her.

“I don’t understand,” Phichit said after the last one. “There’s nothing in the ad about you. No name, no address, just a generic email. How did they know?”

“These things get out. I’m sure one of the earlier people told some friends and then the word spread.”

“Well, it _has_ been four weeks.”

“I know, I know.” Yuuri sighed. “And I know you’re leaving in two weeks, you don’t have to remind me.”

“Less than two weeks.”

“Right.” Yuuri sounded so miserable, Victor almost felt bad for him.

Around five, Victor got up to leave, saying a quick goodbye as he pulled on his coat.

“It’s raining,” Yuuri said, looking out of the window, where it was coming down so hard, the street below was barely visible. “You should wait a little. I’m sure it’ll lighten up after half an hour.”

“Yeah,” Phichit said. “And we’re ordering dinner soon. Do you like sushi? You should stay.”

“Thanks. But I need to get going.” Victor tightened his grip around his shoulder bag.

“Here.” Yuuri jumped up from where he was sitting in the living room and ran over to the front door, grabbing an umbrella. “At least take this.”

“I can’t. And the subway’s only a block away.”

“I insist,” Yuuri said, pressing the umbrella into his hand.

“I can’t,” Victor said again. “How will I return it to you?”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri said. “Keep it.”

And that was how Victor ended up with Yuuri Katsuki’s umbrella. Sitting on the train home, he rested his elbows on his knees, head down, hair dripping slightly. “The rain,” he said suddenly, startling the woman sitting next to him. “It was raining,” he said, the realization hitting him. The people closest to him looked at him like he was insane when he started chuckling. It’d been raining earlier in the afternoon, when Jordan Richards and the others left, and Yuuri hadn’t given any of _them_ umbrellas. No, he thought, shaking his head. It didn’t really mean anything.

Chris wasn’t there when Victor got home. He dropped everything onto the floor and ate leftover pizza straight from the fridge. He saw an email from his father and deleted it without reading.

Victor fell onto his bed, feeling bone-tired in a way he hadn’t in forever. A weariness of the soul. He turned onto his side, scanned the bookcase lazily, eyes catching on the three thick volumes on the lowest shelf, the name _Katsuki_ printed in shiny foil at the bottom of each spine. It had been such a long time. He pushed himself up, hand hovering in hesitation for a moment before he picked up the first book and opened it to the first page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their ages here are also reversed--Yuuri has just turned 27 and Victor is on the cusp of turning 23. We're in early December (when the GPF was in the show) and I kept their birthdays the same, so it's almost Victor's birthday/Christmas! 
> 
> Side note: I read somewhere that one of Director Yamamoto’s inspirations for Yuuri came from a figure skater who was fairly anxious but had a completely confident personality on the ice. I’ve always loved the duality of Yuuri, his anxiety but also his confidence (pulling Victor's tie, saying he's the only one who can satisfy Victor, etc). So that’s why Victor thinks Yuuri’s an elusive, untouchable god of the written word. More on that to come later :)


	2. I'm waiting for it, that green light, I want it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: brief mention of pet death (but not Makkachin, who is an immortal being as we all know *nods*)

Frozen Dawn (Ice Prince Trilogy, Book 3)

by Yuuri Katsuki

Kindle eBook$9.99|Hardcover$12.38

 

Top Customer Reviews

 

*/***** I wish I’d never read Frozen Dawn, what a waste of time

By Ella on June 17, 2011

Format: Hardcover

 

WARNING: SPOILERS! RUN AWAY! OR JUST RUN AWAY FROM THIS BOOK IN GENERAL!!

If I could give this book zero stars, I would. Alright let’s talk about the thing on everyone’s minds: the ending. Listen, I’m not opposed to sad endings, okay? I don’t need authors to hold my hand and lead me down the road of happily ever after. In fact, unlike most fans, I did NOT want some sappy epilogue of Kaito and Ivan ten years down the line cuddling with their gaggle of kids.

Barf.

So yeah, I don’t expect happy and I don’t always want it. What I want is an ending that fits the story. This wasn’t it.

Another thing. I was so excited when I heard that Katsuki was going to write this book in dual narrative! I love Kaito with all my heart but there were so many moments in the first two books that I wanted to see Ivan’s perspective. Now I realize just how wrong I was. Again, I have nothing against dual narrative as a technique but we all know exactly why Katsuki did it.

The ending.

You can’t kill off your main character if he’s your narrator so what do you do? You slap on some duct tape and hope it works. I can’t be the only one who had to keep flipping back to the chapter header to figure out who the heck was talking, right? Their voices were identical. I think this is just Katsuki’s writing. His next book can be about a mute selkie falling in love and it’ll still sound like Kaito. (You know what, someone please go write this because that is a story I want to read.)

Katsuki has said in interviews that he’s planned this ending from the very beginning but I call bull. My theory: he got sick of all the fancy pants critics saying he was pandering to his fans so he just gave us all the middle finger. I just want to grab him by the shoulders and tell him to ignore the haters because this was a masterpiece. Well, the first two books were.

Here’s what I recommend, if you must read this book. Read the first three-quarters of Frozen Dawn, right up to when Kaito and Ivan reunite for the final battle. Then put down the book, and because our overlords at Amazon don’t allow links in reviews, type “Kings of Winter by iceprince-v” into Google and click on the first result.

You’re welcome.

^ Read less

 

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* * *

 

The day Victor spent at Yuuri Katsuki’s apartment was so surreal it’d felt like a dream. He knew it would become one of his New York stories. Everyone had at least one—the time they saw Taylor Swift at the gym or Ryan Gosling walking his dog. This was like that, Victor’s one brush with someone famous, an experience he’d recount at a party after so many drinks, the story losing meaning with each retelling until it meant nothing at all.

Maybe that was why he chose to keep it from Chris. He told himself there was no point in worrying Chris when he’d never even see Yuuri Katsuki again. But in his heart of hearts, he knew it was cowardice, an unwillingness to unpack his conflicting feelings and face them. 

Rereading the books hadn’t helped. All of the wonder and joy that had caused him to fall head over heels the first time ripped him apart all over again.

The first book had come out when he was thirteen. He had spent the preceding year quietly nursing a crush on one of the boys on the cross country team and Kaito’s pining for Ivan had given him a measure of comfort when Victor learned that his feelings were ultimately unrequited. The second book had come out when Victor was fourteen, a few weeks after his mother entered rehab for the first time. It’d given him hope in a dark time, watching Kaito and Ivan fall in love, watching them _allow_ themselves to fall in love.

Victor couldn’t bring himself to re-read the third book though. He didn’t want to re-live Kaito’s death and couldn’t touch the book without being reminded of what had happened after.

It wasn’t just the open letter Katsuki had posted, condemning fanfiction in general. He also messaged Victor directly on tumblr, demanding he take down all of his fics, not just the most recent one.

Confused and hurt, Victor didn’t respond immediately, just trying to get his bearings. His favorite author had messaged him directly, but it was to scream at him. He’d somehow managed to offend his hero. 

“I don’t understand,” Victor said to Kenjirou, his fandom husband and fellow fic writer, over Skype.

“Apparently tons of fans have been sending it to him?”

“What? Why?” Victor was mortified.

“They’re mad about the ending.”

“So they’ve been, what, harassing him with my fic?” Victor said, growing more distraught.

“Yeah, they’re just trolls.” Kenjirou sighed. “And now people are straight up asking him about it in interviews and stuff.”

“So that’s why Katsuki's reacting like this?”

“Hold on, let me send you a link.” It was a review from _Time_ that mentioned _Kings of Winter_ and Victor’s handle, iceprince-v.

“What the hell?” Victor whispered, skimming it.

“And that’s not the only major publication that’s mentioned it. You have a couple of hashtags, #savekaito and #makekingsofwintercanon, and they’re actually trending.” He sent more links to Victor, who just stared at the screen in disbelief.

“I’m just going to take it down.”

“What? You can’t!”

“I’m just going to take all of it down. This is all just a big misunderstanding. I’ll just message him back and—” Victor saw a new message. Katsuki had misinterpreted Victor’s prolonged silence as a hostile act and in his next message, he called Victor’s writing horseshit and threatened legal action if he didn’t take it down.

“Oh my god,” Victor said, on the verge of tears.

“What?” Kenjirou said. “What happened? Victor, you can’t take it all down. Victor?”

“I…I gotta go,” Victor said and quickly ended the call. Kenjirou immediately called him back but Victor logged out of Skype and ignored his text messages.

Victor wrote out a million different letters to Yuuri Katsuki. Apologetic ones. Indignant ones. Angry ones. But none of them ever felt right so he never sent any of them. Instead, he spent the day tearing down all the fics he’s spent years writing, deactivating all of his accounts. He tried to erase his entire existence, make himself smaller and smaller. So small he’d disappear altogether.

But his vanishing act had worked too well and years later, he still didn’t know how to come back from the void, remaining lost in self-exile.

Never meet your heroes, indeed.

* * *

 

In the following week, Victor’s assignments from the temp agency felt even more oppressive than usual.

“I’m thinking about quitting,” Victor told Chris one night. They were in the living room eating Chinese takeout and sharing a bottle of five-buck chuck from Trader Joe’s.

Chris put down his chopsticks and examined Victor. They had been best friends and roommates at the American School of Paris, known each other since they were both in grade school. As part of the overwhelming minority of students who were not American expats, they became friends instantly. Both of their mothers were technically American, which allowed them to attend the prestigious school, but neither had much family stateside or connection to the US.

“What?” Victor said.

“Nothing. Just—what would you do?” Chris was in his first year of law school at NYU. They had lost touch during their college years but reconnected once they found out they’d both be in New York.

“I don’t know.”

“Would you…go back?” Chris asked tentatively. To Russia, he meant.

“No!” Victor was horrified.

“So then what?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll become a vagabond. And one day as you’re walking to work, you’ll see me holding up a cardboard sign, _will write for food_.” Victor’s attempt at a joke didn’t draw any laughter from either of them. Finally, Victor said, “Let’s not talk about me. I’m a total mess.”

“How’s the book coming along?” Chris asked.

“It’s not,” Victor said, a smile stretching tightly across his face. “Can we not talk about me?”

A heavy silence fell on them until finally Chris cleared his throat.

“So I met a guy,” Chris said, a little too casually, his voice suspiciously practiced.

Victor poured the last of the wine into his glass. “Is that where you’ve been off to lately? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Didn’t want to jinx it. He wants me to come home with him for Christmas.”

“Wow. That’s serious.” Now it was Victor who examined Chris.

“I know. We’re going to dinner tomorrow. Come out with us. I want you to meet him.”

“Of course.” Victor smiled. Chris seemed so nervous, like he was looking for Victor’s approval. In a way, they were the only family they had for thousands of miles. On the entire continent really. “I’m sure I’ll like him.”

“Um,” Chris looked embarrassed suddenly. “I _might_ have a slightly more pronounced accent around him.”

Victor started laughing. “Oh Chris, tell me you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You must really like him.”

“He’s so gorgeous and smart and I just panicked. But I’m going to lighten it over the next couple of months. You know, as I ‘assimilate’ more. I just had to warn you.”

“Oh my god,” Victor said, unable to stop laughing. “Should I play along? Try my hand at a French accent, or would you prefer Russian?”

Chris groaned. “Well, a light Russian one wouldn’t hurt. I told him we were school mates. Don’t overdo it, I don’t want him falling for you.” Then he laughed, shooting Victor a wink.

“You know if he’s asked you to go home with him for Christmas, he’s not just dating you for the accent.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“How did you meet?” Victor asked and listened as Chris told him in painstaking detail.

They spent the rest of the night like this, in easy conversation. _I should tell him_ , Victor thought. _About Yuuri_. Instead, he opened another bottle of wine.

“I have to study tomorrow. Really, Victor, I’m going to fail,” Christ protested but Victor ignored him, pouring out two full glasses.

The next morning when Victor woke up, it felt like his head had been split open. The sun was too bright, everything was too loud. Slowly, he made his way to the kitchen, turning on the faucet and sticking his face under the cool stream of water. He tried to check for the time, but his phone was dead. It wasn’t until after twenty minutes of charging that he saw a text he’d missed the night before, from an unknown number: Hi, it’s Yuuri. Are you free for lunch sometime in the next couple of days?

Another text followed, hours after Victor failed to respond: It’s Yuuri Katsuki, by the way. I got your number from Phichit, hope it’s okay.

Victor just stared at the screen, completely dumbfounded. Then he laughed. Just laughed and laughed despite feeling like his head was going to splinter into a million pieces. It was just so funny. Too funny.

 _It’s Yuuri Katsuki, by the way_.

Like Victor could ever forget who he was.

* * *

 

Victor’s father took him hunting for the first time when he was eleven. Nicolai Petrovich Nikiforov, like all the Nikiforov men before him, was a big game hunter and while he largely left the care and education of his only child to others, he took a personal interest in Victor’s hunting instruction.

They began with wolves, as Nicolai’s father had when he was starting out. It was simple, really. They would ride out on horses with over half a dozen borzois and their wranglers. The borzois, known for their great speed and hunting prowess, would sniff out the wolves, round them up and push them toward the horses and guns, trapping them. And then it was only a matter of pointing and shooting.

“ _Victor Nicolaievich, are you paying attention?_ ” his father asked in Russian.

Victor looked up at his father and nodded. It was cold and his fingers were numb, wrapped tightly around leather reins. That first day Victor was just there to observe, not shoot, but if he had to be outside in the cold, he would much rather be running around with the borzois. He loved dogs, had been begging for a dog for as long as he could remember. The only answer he ever got was no.

One of the dogs barked and the chase was on. They rode after them. Victor saw his father raise his rifle, watched with wide eyes as his warm breath marked the cold before the gun fired and a cloud of gunpowder exploded into the air. His eyes ran down the length of the rifle at its intended target.

Several shots later and it was over, the sickly sweet stink of gunpowder clinging to his father’s coat. Only, it wasn’t over. Two wolves were down, but also a borzoi who had gotten too close, who had done too good of a job in keeping the line tight, keeping the wolves from escaping.

“ _Papa_ ,” Victor said, hopping off his horse and kneeling next to the wounded borzoi. He would never forget the pain in her eyes, the low whine.

“ _Step aside_ ,” his father said.

“ _We need to get her to a vet_ ,” Victor said, his hand gentle against her rough fur. 

“ _No_.”

“ _What do you mean, no?_ ”

“ _You have a good heart, Victor, like your mother. I can tell that you love this dog, even though you’ve just met her. But love can be a weakness. It can blind you to the path you must take_.”

Victor looked up. His father, still on his horse, was so far away.

“ _She is suffering. She will never recover_.”

“ _No_ ,” Victor whispered, the first tears splattered against his wool coat.

“ _We must be strong. We must do the right thing_.”

One of the wranglers pulled him back, kicking and screaming. Then his father raised his rifle and all Victor could hear were his own screams and two final gunshots.

Five days later, Victor went home with six wolf skin pelts and a new recurring nightmare. He was eleven and he never went hunting with his father again.

That was his father. Cold, calculating. Completely unsentimental.

And sitting across from Chris and his new boyfriend for dinner later that night, Victor couldn’t help but be reminded of him, his father. It was true that Daniel, the man by Chris’s side, was very handsome. Older than them by at least ten years, he exuded quiet power, clearly someone who almost always got what he wanted.

“How did you meet? Chris told me but I forgot,” Victor said, ignoring his friend’s curious looks.

“At a recruiting event,” Daniel said.

“Oh, you’re a recruiter?” Victor asked, knowing full well that he wasn’t.

“No,” he said.

“He’s a lawyer,” Chris interjected. “He just made partner at Archer, Schmitt, & Klein.”

“Junior partner,” Daniel corrected, keeping his eyes on Victor. “I wasn’t there on behalf of my firm if that’s what you’re thinking. I was there as an alum.”

“He went to NYU too.” Chris’s newly acquired accent was distracting.

“Class of ’07,” Daniel said. So he was about twelve years older than them.

“Fascinating,” Victor said, lying.

“Not really, but it pays the bills,” Daniel said with a shark’s smile. “So Chris tells me you went to school together. What do you do now?”

Before Victor had a chance to answer, Chris cut in: “He’s taking some time off right now but he was at Goldman before.”

“Banking?” Daniel asked.

“Research,” Chris answered. Victor glared at him, shooting him dark looks for the rest of the meal.

“ _Taking some time off? But he was at Goldman?_ ” Victor said once he and Chris were alone. Daniel had to go back to the office and called them an Uber after paying for dinner.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“What’s gotten into you?” Victor asked. Chris had been incredibly supportive when he quit over the summer and started temping.

“I know, I know,” Chris sighed.

“You must really like him, to want to impress him so much,” Victor said. “I’m sorry your best friend’s not good enough for your boyfriend. I mean, he’s a _temp_. So embarrassing—he’s probably covered for an executive assistant at your boyfriend’s fancy law firm.”

“Victor, stop. I said I was sorry, okay?” Chris said. “I know I shouldn’t have—I _know_.”

Victor’s hangover had dulled to a quiet throb by dinner but it flared up now, gathering force like a hurricane.

“Since when do you like status-obsessed suits?” Victor said and immediately regretted it.

Chris turned away, staring out of the window, his expression grim. They spent the rest of the ride in silence.

Once inside of their apartment, Chris walked straight to his room and slammed the door shut. Victor waited half an hour before knocking softly on his door. “Chris, I’m sorry.” The door opened and Victor flopped on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Chris sighed. “Me too. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I just like him. Really, really like him.”

“I know.”

Chris lay beside him.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Victor said, his voice barely a whisper.

“No, of course not. I’m really proud of you, you know. You’re the only one brave enough to just quit this—this bullshit.”

Victor laughed. “Yeah, I’m really living the dream. Running around the city working long hours for little pay, making no progress on my book.”

“You’ll get there,” Chris said. “I’m going to be first in line at your book signing one day.” They shared a small smile.

“Sorry the rent’s late again,” Victor sighed.

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t, but you’re a good friend.”

“Really, Victor, it’s fine.”

“Who’s covering my half? Your parents?”

Chris fell quiet.

Victor sat up, stared at him. Chris covered his face with his hands and groaned. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. But—”

“Told me what?” Then it hit Victor and he understood immediately. “Have you been talking to my father?”

“Not exactly,” Chris said slowly. “He called a lot over the summer but I never picked up.”

“Then what?”

“Well, in August when I went down to the office to pay our rent, they said it’d already been taken care of. For the rest of the lease.”

“What?” Victor shouted, standing up. That was just like his father, to do something so presumptuous, so arrogant. Victor should’ve known. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’d just come back from St. Petersburg a month ago and quit your job and you were barely eating or sleeping. And I knew you’d react like this and do something rash like move out of the apartment. So I just—”

Victor’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists by his side. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I would’ve done. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do now.” He marched out, heading for his closet to pull out a suitcase.

“Stop. Victor, let’s talk about this.” Chris ran after him.

“Out of curiosity, what have you been doing with the checks I gave you for rent?”

“I thought about not cashing them, but then you might notice. So I opened a joint account. It’s all there,” Chris said, a little out of breath.

“You can keep it.” Victor aggressively threw his clothes into a pile.

Chris put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Where are you going to go? And at this hour on a Friday night?”

“I don’t know.” Victor couldn’t look at him.

“Come to the kitchen. I’ll make us some tea. We still have some of that peach bellini jam that you like. Come on, have a cup of tea and then you can go back to ransacking your room.”

Victor followed Chris out in defeat, the exhaustion hitting him, hard.

“I’m not saying you should forgive him or let him back into your life,” Chris said, putting the kettle on. “But he does care about you. And the money’s already spent. Don’t make any decisions right now. Just sleep on it.”

That night, despite how tired he was, Victor couldn’t sleep. He curled up on his side, his heart aching. He was homesick, not that he would admit it. He missed St. Petersburg, he missed Paris, he missed his mother, and most of all he missed Makkachin, his beloved poodle. She was twelve years old now and when he was there over the summer, he noticed that bits of silver now dotted her apricot fur, that the spring in her step was gone.

He had felt so good, so _sure_ when he left Goldman Sachs. The whole world seemed to open up to him, everything was suddenly possible. Only, the last six months hadn’t exactly been as inspirational as the movies would have you believe. He was happier but still frazzled, aimless and full of doubt. He’d planned on having Makka flown over once he had things figured out but now, nearly six months later, he was just as lost as he had been.

Victor needed a change, he knew. He had somehow exchanged being stuck in one rut for another. Unlocking his phone, he stared at the pair of texts from Yuuri Katsuki.

Y: Hi, it’s Yuuri. Are you free for lunch sometime in the next couple of days?

Y: It’s Yuuri Katsuki, by the way. I got your number from Phichit, hope it’s okay.

Victor looked at the time and sat up, leaning against his headboard. He’d never written back to Yuuri all those years ago, unable to formulate the right response. He tried to not overthink it now.

V: Yeah, I’m free tomorrow.

Yuuri responded within minutes.

Y: Great, I’m free then too. Is Union Square convenient for you?

V: That works.

Y: Why don’t we meet in front of the Strand at noon?

V: See you then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I was in such a writing slump before starting this fic and I'm so grateful for the kudos and comments, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> Next chapter will have a lot more Yuuri and Victor time, I promise.
> 
> Also, please don't judge Yuuri too harshly here. We all make mistakes and do things we later come to regret. More on that later :)


	3. I'm acting like I don't see (every ribbon you used to tie yourself to me)

In the year following the disaster with Yuuri Katsuki, Victor had fantasized about meeting Yuuri one day. Not as a fan, not as iceprince-v, but as himself and only when the name Victor Nikiforov meant something. He would matter. He would have books with his name printed in shiny foil on the cover, books that topped the bestseller’s list and won awards. They would meet as equals and then…

Well, Victor never actually thought about what would happen after. Even back then, when the wound was fresh, he hadn’t wanted to yell at Yuuri or play out some kind of complicated revenge fantasy. Hadn’t wanted to humiliate him or rub his own accomplishments in Yuuri’s face. He just didn’t want to feel like he had then, at seventeen, so small and helpless. So insignificant.

In essence, Victor wanted to control _how_ he’d meet Yuuri Katsuki. But the universe had other ideas, and they collided in the strangest of ways. And now, he was going to see Yuuri again. It didn’t escape Victor’s notice that while Yuuri had been the one to ask him to lunch, _he_ was the one who’d responded and said yes.

Victor had begun to question his decision in the seconds before he found Yuuri inside the Strand wearing slim dark jeans and a Columbia hoodie sitting cross-legged on the floor of the history section. Yuuri was completely absorbed, flipping through an Antony Beevor book. Victor paused, half hidden by a display, not wanting to disturb him. Yuuri frowned in concentration, blue framed glasses sliding ever so slowly down his nose. Victor found himself feeling strangely protective of him. Sitting there alone unguarded, Yuuri looked younger, more vulnerable.

“Is that who I think that is?” came a whisper beside him. Victor turned around to find a middle-aged man peering over him.

“Excuse me?” Victor said.

“Is that, you know, Yuuri Katsuki?” the man said, keeping his voice low. “I mean, isn’t that why you’re standing here staring at him? I heard he still came here all the time but I thought that was just some crazy rumor.”

“I—”

“Well, if _you’re_ not going to take advantage then I will,” he said, and before Victor could stop him, the man walked boldly forward, approaching Yuuri. It was those two words that shocked him most, _take advantage_. Yuuri wasn’t some _thing_ to be taken advantage of, Victor wanted to shout after the man. Yuuri was a fucking person.

“Hi,” the man said. “Sorry to disturb you but are you—oh my god, you are!”

Yuuri looked up suddenly, so startled that his head hit the shelf behind him.

“I was just wondering if—”

“Yuuri!” Victor called, walking swiftly over.

“Oh, hi, Victor,” Yuuri said, looking extremely relieved. “Sorry, I have to go,” he said to the man, ducking his head as he joined Victor. They quickly walked out of the store and into the crowded stream of foot traffic on Broadway.

“Good timing,” Yuuri said, exhaling deeply.

“Does that happen a lot?” Victor asked.

“Not really. It’s been a while. Usually people don’t notice me if I don’t want them to. Come on, you hungry?” he said, guiding them around the corner to a slightly less busy street. “Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

“No,” Victor said, feeling slightly disoriented. “You pick.” Fourteen-year-old Victor might’ve fainted if he knew that _Yuuri Katsuki_ , favorite author and personal hero, would one day ask him where he wanted to eat.

“Have you ever been to Peacefood?” Yuuri said. “It’s vegan.”

“Sounds good.” Eighteen-year-old Victor might’ve fainted if he knew that _Yuuri Katsuki_ , asshole author and all-round monster, would one day take him to lunch.

They walked in silence and Victor couldn’t help looking over his shoulder in case the man from the book store had decided to follow them. When he stopped looking over his shoulder, he was wondering what this was all about. Why Yuuri had asked him to lunch, what he was going to say. Victor still hadn’t told Chris about Yuuri but he told himself that he would after today, when he knew what Yuuri was going to say.

“What’s good here?” Victor said after they sat down.

“I like the mushroom duxelle, it’s under pizzas but it’s more like a savory tart. And the Japanese pumpkin sandwich’s really good too. They have more normal stuff, cheeseburgers and nuggets but I think that’s just for people who aren’t familiar with vegan food.”

“Are you vegan?”

“No,” Yuuri said, shrugging. “You don’t have to be vegan to enjoy vegan food, just like you don’t have to be Greek to like eating Greek. It’s probably my favorite thing about the city, all the different things to try.” His smile was mesmerizing—shy but still somehow self-assured, like he was letting you see behind the curtain, the real Yuuri Katsuki.

Victor ordered the the pumpkin sandwich.

“So, you probably already knowwhy I asked you here,” Yuuri began once they were alone.

“I really don’t,” Victor blurted out.

“Oh.” Yuuri blushed, and it left Victor feeling flustered. “Well, as you know, my friend Phichit’s leaving and I need some help keeping track of things. And I was wondering if you’d be interested?”

“In helping you?”

“Yeah. I’d buy out your temp contract and—” Yuuri paused, glancing over his shoulder. Victor followed his gaze and saw two girls three tables over staring at them.

“I think you’re blowing my cover,” Yuuri said, turning away from the onlookers.

“What?”

“No one ever notices me when I’m alone or with Phichit.” Yuuri kept his voice low, like they could be overheard.

“And what exactly am I doing?” Victor wanted to laugh. If anyone was looking at them, it was because of Yuuri. And not just because he was famous. Victor could still remember the moment he landed on Yuuri’s picture on the back jacket flap of the first book, how wide his eyes had grown when he saw him. _Oh_.

“You’re, well—“ Yuuri gestured weakly in Victor’s general direction. “You’re _you_ ,” he trailed off.

“I’m aware,” Victor said with a small smile. “Could you be a little more specific?”

“Well when you walk into a room, everyone—oh, never mind,” Yuuri mumbled.

It was just like that first day at Yuuri’s apartment. Victor found himself distracted and confused by the Yuuri before him. For so many years all he’d had were Yuuri’s words, first in the books, then from the open letter Yuuri had posted and the direct message he sent to iceprince-v. Yuuri was first a god and then a monster, but the person sitting in front of Victor now was neither. A mere mortal.

“I’m sure people notice you all the time, like that guy in the bookstore,” Victor said. “Do they always just walk right up to you?”

“Sometimes, I guess. It was worse a few years ago, when the last book and first movie came out around the same time. But these days I can mostly get away with it. I mean, it’s not like I’m one of the actors. I don’t have paparazzi camped outside of my apartment, I’m just the writer. And the hoodie helps,” Yuuri said, sticking his hands in the front pocket. “People see it and think _student_ , so no one notices me.”

“Like Superman slipping on Clark Kent’s glasses,” Victor said.

Yuuri laughed lightly. “Sure, exactly like that. Though isn’t it the other way around?” 

Victor’s eyes lingered on Yuuri’s sweatshirt. “Did you like it there?”

“Columbia? It was okay, I guess.” Yuuri looked uncomfortable, not meeting Victor’s eyes.

 _Ice Prince_ had come out the summer before Yuuri’s first year in college. He got the book deal as a senior in high school and took a gap year to work on getting it in shape. Once published, it instantly jumped to the top of the bestseller’s list and stayed there. Even before the book came out he’d gotten a lot of publicity. It was such a splashy story—a high schooler getting a high six-figure book deal. Not a teenage actor or pop star, but some _nobody_.

Then things really seemed to blow up when the blurbs started rolling in. Lev Grossman, Suzanne Collins, and a handful of other notables raved about the book but it wasn’t until J.K. Rowling tweeted that she’d stayed up all night to devour it that the book really took off. Yuuri’s publishers pulled that tweet, put it on all the marketing materials—the subway posters, the magazine ads, the social media posts. Yuuri always seemed embarrassed and overwhelmed to Victor in interviews from around this time. It wasn’t hard to imagine what it must’ve been like for him in his first year of college with that kind of attention following him.

“How’d you meet Phichit?” Victor asked, changing the subject.

Yuuri’s face lit up at his friend’s name. “It was so random. I was at Celestino’s office and we were both in the waiting area. Another agent at ICM had seen him in something at Juilliard and was trying to sign him. And I guess we just hit it off. He’s been such a good friend over the last few years.”

“And he helps you out?”

“Yeah, it just started with small things like social media because he’s so good at it. And then emails. And soon he was doing all of it, came with me to premieres and on press tours. I don’t know how I would’ve survived without him, honestly. But I’m really excited for him.”

“He’s moving, right?”

Yuuri nodded. “To London. He’s starting at the Royal Ballet.”

“Wow,” Victor said, genuinely impressed.

“I know. Can you believe it? _The Royal Ballet_.” Yuuri was brimming with pride for his friend and it surprised Victor, how much that touched him.

When their food came, Yuuri insisted Victor try the mushroom duxelle and they ended up splitting everything, with half of Victor’s pumpkin sandwich ending up on Yuuri’s plate and half of Yuuri’s flatbread going to Victor. It felt almost like...a date.

“So,” Yuuri said after he insisted on paying for both of them. “What do you think? About working with me.” He looked nervous, and as they walked out of Peacefood, Victor couldn’t figure out why. He was Yuuri fucking Katsuki and Victor was a literal nobody. Despite all of Victor’s reservations—and he had many—he knew that it was a great offer. No more running all over town, working long hours for minimum wage, never having time to write.

“Can I think about it?” Victor finally settled on.

Yuuri’s face fell but he recovered quickly with a smile. “Of course.”

* * *

 

Victor was half-asleep on the couch hugging a book to his chest when Chris came back later that day. He woke when he felt a heavy blanket over him.

“Chris?”

“Hm?” His friend carefully draped the blanket over his shoulders.

“Don’t go. I need to talk to you,” Victor said, struggling to push himself up.

Chris paused, examining Victor closely. “Is this the kind of talk that requires tea or a bottle of wine?”

“Wine, probably.”

As Chris went to get a bottle from the kitchen, Victor told him about Yuuri, about all of it—the freak assignment to his apartment and now the offer to work for him.

The whole _Kings of Winter_ debacle happened over the summer when the third book was released and they weren’t at school so Chris hadn’t been there to witness first hand just what Yuuri Katsuki had done to Victor, hadn’t been there when Victor tore down everything he’d ever posted in panic, deactivated his accounts, but Chris knew enough to know that Yuuri Katsuki had destroyed Victor once upon a time and Victor had never fully recovered.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Chris said, setting down a pair of glasses and uncorking the wine.

“I don’t know.” Victor had excuses in his back pocket. He thought it wasn’t a big deal since he’d never see Yuuri again after that first day. Then he just wanted to find out what Yuuri was going to say before he told Chris. But he knew they were just excuses and not even very compelling ones.

Chris sighed. “So, what do you think you’ll get out of it?” His tone suggested a worried exasperation, like he couldn’t understand why Victor was entertaining the idea at all.

“I want to quit the temp agency, you know that,” Victor said. “This’ll give me some time to figure things out. It’ll be a piece of cake, keeping his schedule, answering fan mail, organizing his finances, maybe running a few errands here or there. And, he told me he’d be leaving on a press tour after New Year’s, one that’ll last at least two months. So I’ll just be working from home most of the time, occasionally going over to his place to get the mail, water the plants, that kind of thing.” Listening to his own words, Victor thought he had managed to convince even himself.

Chris looked at him skeptically. “And he’s paying you the same as the agency?”

Victor nodded, taking a long sip. “More, actually. And he’s incorporated, so I’ll be a regular employee and everything will be above board—payroll taxes and all that.”

“He’s incorporated as an LLC?” Chris asked.

“Either that or as an S-corp,” Victor said, shrugging.

“You sound like you’ve already made up your mind,” Chris said. “Did you want my honest opinion or did you just want me to give you my blessing?”

Victor hesitated.

“Honest opinion it is!” Chris said, draining his glass. “I think this is a _terrible_ idea, Victor. A truly terrible idea.”

Victor parted his lips to speak but then snapped his mouth shut.

“That said,” Chris continued. “It seems that I can’t convince you not to take the job. So I think you need to be smart about this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean that if you’re going to do this, you need to know exactly why you’re doing it and keep focused. And I don’t mean the silly excuses you just gave me.” Chris topped off their glasses with a smile.

“What do you mean, focused?” Victor said.

“I mean, this is an opportunity you need to take advantage of.” There was that phrase again, _take advantage_.

Victor frowned.

“I mean, how many people get to work for a famous writer like Yuuri Katsuki?” Chris asked and Victor was reminded of the people who’d filed into Yuuri’s apartment one after the other begging to be his assistant. “You could learn from him. You could meet people you’d normally never have access to. Worse case scenario, you could write a roman-a-clef a la _The Devil Wears Prada_.” Chris swirled his wine, pondering. “I got it! _Ice King: Dispatches from Hell Frozen Over_.” Chris cackled, then paused. “No that’s terrible and way too long. I’m sure we could come up with something better.”

“That’s not funny.” Victor glared at his friend over the top of his wine glass. “I’m not going to take this job just so I can write some kind of tell-all. And besides, I’m sure I’ll have to sign an NDA.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris said with a slight pout. “But my other points still stand. If you go in there without a plan just because you’re tired of temping, then you’ll just get destroyed all over again. You won’t survive unless you have a plan, unless you focus on _you_ and what _you_ need. Then you won’t be floating from situation to situation reacting each time.”

“How very _Art of War_ ,” Victor said drily. “Let me guess: assigned reading from Daniel.”

“No,” Chris said, a touch defensive. “It wasn’t _Art of War_. And so what if it came from something Daniel recommended? It doesn’t make it any less true, does it? It’s common sense to have a strategy.”

“I don’t know. He seems different. He seems…nice.” Victor set down his glass, waved Chris off when he lifted the bottle to give him a refill.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you of all people know what he’s really like. I’m sure he seems nice _now_. But come on, Victor, you can’t possibly buy that, can you? You’re too smart to fall for that kind of bullshit.” Chris sighed. “Look, Victor, you always put so much of yourself into everything. Just treat this like the job that it is. You are selling your time and he’s buying it, no more, no less. You don’t owe him any more than that. You don’t owe him a piece of your soul for god’s sake.”

* * *

 

Victor couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning more than usual. His mind replayed the events of that summer five years ago, picking at the scab until the wound bled again. And when he finally tired of torturing himself with that particular memory, his mind wandered to the past summer, only six months ago. He’d graduated and started at Goldman in May, flown out to St. Petersburg in June, came back to the city after three weeks and promptly quit his job. He still remembered the moment he got that call the first week of June, his father’s rough voice—

Victor squeezed his eyes closed tight, shutting everything out. Annoying as it was, Chris had been right and it wasn’t just about Yuuri Katsuki. Victor couldn’t keep floating from job to job, he couldn’t continue this aimless existence, this half-life. And he definitely couldn’t go work for Yuuri Katsuki without a plan because that was just asking for heartbreak.

 _Take advantage_ , Chris had said, but Victor found himself fighting it. Maybe it was because of that man in the Strand and what he’d said but that wasn’t quite right either. Victor had bristled at the words then—“Well, if _you’re_ not going to take advantage then I will”—but all the man probably wanted was just an autograph. Something that meant a lot to him but cost very little to Yuuri. If Victor thought about it like that, then it was possible to go through with Chris’s advice, as unpalatable as it seemed. He would sell his time and no more. He would do his job and come home and focus on his own book. He would excise the past and its accompanying trauma.

Victor wanted to let go of the past, once and for all. He only hoped the past was ready to let him go too.

* * *

 

Victor spent the first week at Yuuri Katsuki’s apartment mostly helping Phichit with packing. He was off to Thailand for Christmas and the first couple of weeks of January before he left for London. It was actually a nice way to ease into working with Yuuri, the three of them packing up Phichit’s stuff together.

“Sorry,” Yuuri told him after the first day. “I promise it won’t always be like this.” Yuuri wiped his brow with a sleeve.

“I don’t mind. Really, I don’t.”

Yuuri smiled and it always caught Victor off guard, the way Yuuri’s eyes seemed to sparkle when he smiled.

Phichit had a lot of things—boxes and boxes of books, odd trinkets collected on his travels—but by far the biggest problem was the question of how to transport his hamsters.

“Four months?” Phichit said, looking up from his phone. “A _four month_ quarantine. For hamsters. They’ll _die_.” It sounded overdramatic but Victor didn’t think Phichit was exaggerating. He volunteered for the ASPCA in New York whenever he could and knew that for dogs and cats at least, the three month mark was about as much as they could take before their spirit broke. That was beyond question the greatest concern he faced when considering how to bring Makkachin over. As much as he missed her, he didn’t know if he could subject her to something like that.

* * *

 

The morning after Phichit left, Yuuri ran into the office as Victor in the middle of writing an email to the movie producers introducing himself as Yuuri’s new assistant and confirming the press tour details.

“Do you have a second?” he asked, a little breathless with excitement.

“What is it?”

“Come here.” They went to the couch in the living room and Victor glanced at Yuuri’s laptop, still open and balancing haphazardly on the coffee table. “Look!”

Scrolling down the page, Victor laughed.

“You think it’s stupid,” Yuuri said, apprehensive.

“No, I think it’s a great idea,” Victor said and by the end of the next day, Phichit’s hamsters were out of the apartment and on their way to London. It’d cost Yuuri an arm and a leg but the agency he found would handle everything, expedite the quarantine process in the UK, keep a close watch on them and email him a picture of them every single day.

“Merry Christmas, Phichit,” Yuuri said softly as he said goodbye to the hamsters. Victor kept his eyes on Yuuri, unable to look away. Who _was_ this person?

Yuuri caught him staring and he turned away quickly.

“I should—” Victor gestured weakly in the direction of the office.

“Of course,” Yuuri said. “I’m making tea. Do you want some?” He’d always refused in the past but this time, he said yes.

Victor spent the rest of the day emailing back and forth with one of the marketing assistants on _Frozen Dawn_ to book all of Yuuri’s plane tickets and hotel reservations, to confirm he had a driver assigned to him every single day, to make sure each day’s schedule left room for an hour for lunch and an hour for dinner and enough time to get at least six hours of sleep.

The light outside of the office window began to dim and when Victor next looked up, it was pitch black. Yuuri came in, knocked lightly against the door frame.

“Hey don’t work too hard, I’m sure it can wait,” he said.

Victor glanced at the clock and was surprised that it was already seven.

“Oh wow, sorry, you probably want me to get out of your hair,” he said, quickly getting up. All the movie people were in LA where it was only four in the afternoon and it had messed with his sense of time.

“No, it’s not that,” Yuuri said. “I just want to make sure you don’t hate it here.”

“Oh.”

“Something Celestino likes to remind me: we’re in the business of books, we’re not doctors, no one’s life is on the line,” he said, shrugging.

 _That’s not true_ , Victor immediately thought. _Books can save lives._ But he didn’t say anything, just nodded and went to get his coat.

“So, what are you doing for Christmas?” Yuuri asked casually as Victor pulled on his boots.

“Oh, um, nothing actually,” he said.

“Nothing?”

“Yeah. My family’s in Russia, we’re not religious, and besides, Christmas is in January for us.” Victor shrugged.

“Oh. Right, I forgot. You don’t have to come in then,” Yuuri said quickly. “You can have the week off, or two weeks if that’s better.”

Victor just stared at him in surprise. “No, that’s okay. I just saw them over the summer.”

“Okay,” Yuuri said. “But just so you know, you can always tell me these kinds of things and we’ll work something out.”

Victor released a breathy laugh. “Okay, thanks, boss.”

Yuuri blushed.

“What about you? Any plans?” he asked.

“My family’s coming in for a few days. I’ve managed to convince them that there’s no better place to spend Christmas than in New York City.” Yuuri smiled, looking a little pleased with himself.

“Can’t argue with you there,” Victor said, wrapping his scarf around him and reaching for the door.

“Wait,” Yuuri said. “Why don’t you come over?”

“What?” Victor froze. "For Christmas?"

“Yeah. The more the merrier.”

“I don’t want to intrude and—”

Yuuri shook his head. “You won’t be intruding. Come on, I promise it’ll be fun, and if it isn’t, well, you can always write a bad Yelp review: Christmas with the Katsuki’s—would not recommend, service was slow and terrible.”

Victor laughed.

“So you’ll come?” he asked, eyes bright and hopeful.

For the second time that day, Victor found himself saying yes to Yuuri Katsuki.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I'm going to aim for a two week update schedule, so see you 8/9/17. Hopefully once work quiets down I'll be able to update weekly. And thank you so, so much for the comments and kudos--they're food for a writer's soul. 
> 
> This chapter ended up much fluffier than I planned, whoops. Never fear, more angst on the way! Next up: Christmas with the Katsuki's + what happened to Victor over the summer + Yuri Plisetsky makes a cameo


	4. They say, you're a little much for me, you're a liability (you're a little much for me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: brief moment of physical violence, when a character remembers being slapped.

Yuuri lived in the West Village, and with decent weather, Victor could walk to from his apartment in the Lower East Side in under thirty minutes. It was early and the streets were largely abandoned the morning of Christmas Eve as Victor walked in the cold. Snow had begun to drift down when he stepped out of his apartment and was now falling rapidly and in clumps, clinging to Victor’s hat and coat, his eyelashes even. But none of that bothered him. If anything, he felt at home in the cold.

Halfway there, while walking through SoHo, Victor stopped and tilted his head back to look at the sky, let the snow kiss his face. It was the perfect cover, he thought. He could text Yuuri now, blame the weather and go back home. Maybe Yuuri would see through the excuse but the snow gave him just enough plausible deniability.

On the other hand, returning home and spending Christmas Eve by himself wasn’t exactly appealing. He could see it now, walking through the door, hanging up his wet coat, opening a bottle or two of wine. Alone with nothing but his thoughts and bad memories, his regrets and self-recrimination.

Chris had left two days ago. Victor helped him pack for the week with Daniel at his parents’ place in St. Lucia. Chris seemed to feel guilty, apologizing for leaving Victor here alone for the holidays.

Victor waved his concern away. “Don’t worry about me. Besides, you’d be back home in Switzerland anyway.” They were standing by the door, Chris slipping on his coat and gloves.

“Yeah but…” he trailed off.

Victor knew what he was about to say—that Victor would’ve come with Chris to the Giacometti’s like he’d done when they were still schoolmates, for spring break or for part of the summer.

“I won’t be alone. Yuuri actually invited me over.”

Chris snapped up to look at Victor.

“Yuuri Katsuki invited you over for Christmas?”

“His family’s visiting and—”

“My, Victor, and you thought Daniel and I were moving fast,” Chris laughed.

“It’s not like that.” Victor didn’t know why he was blushing. “He found out I didn’t have any plans and took pity on me. That’s all.”

“ _Right_ ,” Chris said. “Well. Have fun, chéri. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Victor rolled his eyes.

“Alright. I’ve got to get to the airport.”

“Have a good trip.”

“Do you mean it?”

Victor nodded. “I want you to be happy, Chris.”

“Since I won’t be here for it, happy birthday,” Chris said, giving him a tight hug before finally leaving.

Now, standing in the middle of SoHo looking like a lost tourist, Victor sighed and continued heading west. He paused again once he reached Yuuri’s building, then took a deep breath and entered the lobby.

He barely knocked on the door before it opened to reveal a rail-thin woman with long, dark hair. She glanced at him then turned back to call, “Yuuri!” Victor wondered if this was Yuuri’s mother.

“Hey,” Yuuri said, coming to the door. “Come in, come in. You must be freezing!”

Victor shrugged off his coat and unwrapped his scarf. A couple people came over from the living room, looking at Victor curiously.

“Everyone, this is my…this is Victor,” Yuuri said, flushing slightly, and Victor couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Yuuri was so shy suddenly, and in front of his own family too.

“Hi, everyone,” Victor said with a practiced smile.

“This is my mom and dad,” Yuuri said. “And my sister Mari, and this is Minako, my godmother.”

Victor knew Yuuri Katsuki’s story well from his years as the king of the _Ice Prince_ fandom. He’d read every interview and profile piece on Yuuri Katsuki. He could recite Yuuri’s story in his sleep. Victor knew he’d been born in Hasetsu, a small seaside town in Japan, where his grandparents ran a hot springs resort. He knew that Yuuri had come to the States with his family at the age of seven. They lived in California, where Yuuri’s mother, Hiroko, worked as an accountant and his father, Toshiya, was a chef. Then, when his grandparents grew unable to run the inn, Yuuri’s parents made the difficult decision to move back to Japan to care for them. Neither Yuuri nor his older sister Mari had wanted to go back—after five years away, they’d be impossibly behind at school. So they stayed in the US with their godmother, Minako Okukawa. She was in the acknowledgements of _Ice Prince_ alongside members of Yuuri’s nuclear family.

In fact, Minako had legendary status within the fandom. In an early interview, Yuuri revealed that she had been the first to read _Ice Prince_ , that she was the one who sent it to a friend who worked in publishing, Celestino Cialdini, the person who would go on to become Yuuri’s agent. In a lot of ways, Minako Okukawa was responsible for the existence of the _Ice Prince_ books. She was a writer herself, the go-to script doctor in LA, the one the studios went to for uncredited rewrites of big, expensive projects—superhero movies, summer blockbusters, serious award contenders. She nurtured Yuuri’s talent, encouraging him to write, to keep sharing his work with her. And later, when the books were optioned for film, Yuuri had insisted she write the screenplays.

And now she was standing in Yuuri’s apartment examining Victor with piercing eyes, and he felt like he was back in school, about to get detention.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Victor said, trying to shake off her stare. “I’m Yuuri’s assistant.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Yuuri said quickly. “You just help me out.”

“So what you’re saying is that he _assists_ you,” Mari said, smirking. “Like an _assistant_.”

“That’s our Yuuri,” Minako said, shaking her head. “It’s like you’re embarrassed to be doing well, to be the kind of person who has an assistant.”

“I’m not,” Yuuri said, clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable. “And I’m not doing well,” he clarified. “I haven’t written anything in forever.”

Minako’s expression softened. “You’ll write again when you’re ready.”

“Come on, it’s Christmas. Isn’t there some kind of rule about not being sad around Christmas?” Mari said with a light, teasing voice and Yuuri smiled.

“You’re right.”

“So,” Yuuri’s mother said, her eyes gentle and warm. “Now that everyone’s here, what do you have planned for us today?” Before Yuuri could answer, the room erupted into conversation, everyone talking over each other about what they wanted to do.

“Okay, okay,” Yuuri’s dad said, laughing. “Let’s do all of it.”

Victor stood back, a little overwhelmed. It was like the Katsuki’s had filled the entire space with love. He couldn’t help but envy Yuuri.

Watching them argue and laugh, Victor had only one thought: _I want that_.

* * *

 

Despite the weather, they trekked out into the snow, first heading out to brunch (what Mari wanted), then to MoMa (what Minako wanted), then to Central Park (what Toshiya wanted) and then going to Rockefeller Center to see the big tree (what Hiroko wanted).

“Sorry,” Yuuri said to Victor as they fell back from the group. “I know they can be a little much.”

“No, don’t apologize. I like them. A lot, actually,” Victor said.

Yuuri’s eyes grew wide in surprise. Then he smiled. “I’m glad.”

“Thank you,” Victor said.

“For what?” Yuuri asked.

“For inviting me.” Victor held on to Yuuri’s gaze, getting lost in the pair of warm brown eyes staring back at him.

“Hurry up!” Mari called back to them as they descended into a subway station.

When they reemerged, the snow had slowed to flurries that floated all around them, dancing in the air in defiance of gravity.

“Come on,” Hiroko said, pointing in the direction of the gigantic Christmas tree, the outdoor ice rink beside it. “It looks open! Let’s rent some skates.”

“You guys are such tourists!” Yuuri complained, but he seemed almost eager to tie up his skates, running out onto the ice ahead of everyone else.

“Yuuri used to skate,” Hiroko told Victor. “Back in Japan, before we moved to LA.”

“I had no idea,” Victor said. In all the interviews he’d read, Yuuri had never mentioned it.

“Where do you think he got the idea for _Ice Prince_?” Mari said, rolling her eyes. “He was _obsessed_.”

“Why didn’t he keep skating?” Victor asked, looking out onto the ice, watching Yuuri circle around the rink, gaining speed, moving with grace.

“Hasetsu’s a small town,” Hiroko said. “We had only one ice rink and we knew the owners. They’d let Yuuri skate in the mornings before school when no one was on the ice, in the evenings after they closed. Yuuri had a key and could practice whenever he wanted.”

“But in LA, it was just so competitive,” Toshiya continued, shaking his head. 

“If you haven’t noticed, Yuuri doesn’t exactly love pressure,” Minako said. They were all so matter-of-fact, but it was clear they weren’t criticizing him. They accepted him as he was, they loved him as he was, and to Victor, that was remarkable.

Yuuri met them at the entrance to the ice as everyone slowly filed onto the ice, gripping the boards as they got their bearings.

“Have you skated before?” Yuuri asked, keeping pace with Victor.

“No,” Victor said. “But my stepbrother skates. He’s supposed to be pretty good at it.”

“Figure skating or hockey?”

“Figure skating, I think. I don’t really keep up with what he’s doing. We’re not really close.” Victor shrugged. “You don’t have to stay with me. Go join your family, go skate.”

Yuuri hesitated, looking unsure. Finally, he nodded and left.

Victor watched him glide up to Mari, saw them joke and laugh before Yuuri skated away. He moved elegantly, like his body was an instrument releasing a beautiful melody on the ice. He entered a spin, slowly at first then picking up speed. When he came out of it he was laughing breathlessly and for the first time in the weeks Victor had known him, Yuuri looked happy, unburdened. His family clapped, Victor joining them, and Yuuri dipped into a slight bow.

“Wow,” Victor said when Yuuri caught up with him again. “You’re amazing.” And when Yuuri looked like he was going to protest, Victor shook his head appreciatively and said, “You really are.”

Yuuri’s lips parted in surprise, then broke into a small, gentle smile and Victor felt the air being sucked right out of him. He wanted to see Yuuri smile like that forever.

But more than that, he wanted to be the _reason_ for Yuuri’s smile.

 _Oh, God_ , he thought. _Get a grip_.

* * *

 

Afterwards, as they slipped off their rental skates, Mari asked Yuuri what he wanted to do next. “It’s your turn to pick something.”

Yuuri paused, then turned to Victor. “What about you, Victor? Is there anything you want to do?”

Victor was surprised but he quickly shook his head. Yuuri didn’t press it.

“Well, I don’t know guys. What should I pick?” Yuuri said, but to Victor’s confusion, he was laughing.

“Let me take a wide guess—katsudon,” Minako said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m starving!” Yuuri said.

“Katsudon?” Victor said.

“It’s a pork cutlet bowl,” Hiroko explained. “It’s Yuuri’s favorite.”

“Excuse me. Not all katsudon are created equal,” Yuuri said. “Katsudon made by my dad is my favorite.”

Toshiya laughed. “Okay, okay, let’s go home.”

“I know it’s not very traditional,” Yuuri said to Victor once they were back at the apartment. He looked so apologetic when it was Victor who was intruding on their time as a family.

“I’m excited to try it, really,” Victor said, hoping it’d allay any concerns Yuuri had.

“Okay, moment of truth,” Yuuri said when Toshiya appeared with bowls of steaming katsudon.

Victor picked up his pair of chopsticks, acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on him, awaiting his verdict.

“Let’s not all stare at Victor,” Hiroko said, amused, and everyone pretended to turn away while keeping their attention on him.

Victor took a bite and his eyes shot open.

“What _is_ this?” Victor said, looking down at his bowl. “Is this what God eats?”

Everyone laughed.

“No, I’m serious,” he said before stuffing his face. “So good.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Yuuri said, his eyes dancing with laughter.

“Wow,” Victor said when he came up for air. “Amazing.” He was grateful when everyone else started eating, the conversation moving on.

“Are you excited that the final movie’s coming out?” Hiroko asked Yuuri.

“I guess? It’ll be so different once it’s all over,” Yuuri said.

“That reminds me,” Toshiya said. “I brought some posters with us. You’ll sign them for us, won’t you? For the inn?”

Yuuri groaned in embarrassment.

“I bet people are going crazy,” Mari said.

“What do you mean?” Victor asked.

“Don’t get me started,” Minako said. “It’s insane. You’ve got some intense fans, Yuuri.”

Victor felt a stab of annoyance. Were they seriously _complaining_ about how many people loved the books and now the movies? What was wrong with them? Back when Victor was still part of the _Ice Prince_ fandom, he was grateful for every single message he got, happy that people were enjoying something he created.

“What, are people writing fanfiction based on the movies or something now?” Mari asked.

“Let’s not talk about it,” Yuuri said, looking down at his bowl.

The annoyance Victor felt quickly turned to anger. It was as if time had turned back five years and Victor was seventeen again, alone in his room curled up with Makkachin. Yuuri had destroyed him then, and no matter how kind he seemed now, no matter how much he struggled with writer’s block, Yuuri was still that person after all these years. Deep down, underneath the polite mask he wore was someone capable of being cold and vicious. Someone who resented all the love and attention the world gave him. Someone who couldn’t appreciate fans who lived for his work, who worshipped him.

Victor had begun to lose sight of the real Yuuri Katsuki in the last few weeks, and now he kicked himself for it. He remembered Chris’s advice: _This is an opportunity you need to take advantage of. You could learn from him. You could meet people you’d normally never have access to. You of all people know what he’s really like. I’m sure he seems nice now. But come on, Victor, you can’t possibly buy that, can you? You’re too smart to fall for that kind of bullshit_.

Chris was right. He had to be smart, remind himself just exactly who Yuuri Katsuki was.

The night stretched out before him, the conversation at the table flowing freely long after they’d finished eating, but Victor kept his guard up, his emotions in check.

Finally, Yuuri and Toshiya began to clear the table. It was late when Yuuri brought out a bottle of Veuve Cliquot.

“You still do that?” Mari asked.

“Yes,” Yuuri said cautiously.

At Victor’s confusion, Minako added, “It was something his ex did with his family, champagne on Christmas Eve.”

“We don’t have to—” Yuuri sounded defensive. “It’s just fun. It’s not like it means anything.”

Victor was shocked. In every interview Yuuri had ever given, he’d never mentioned a romantic partner. In fact, whenever anyone asked, Yuuri had always seemed shy, like he’d _never even had_ a romantic partner before. Still, Victor couldn’t explain why this surprised him so much. There had always been rampant speculation about Yuuri’s love life. The _Ice Prince_ trilogy was many things—a coming-of-age tale, an adventure story, high fantasy—but it was first and foremost a love story. And it was hard to believe that someone who had never experienced love could write a story like that. But Yuuri had been careful. He always went to events alone, or accompanied by Mari or Minako. He always demurred when asked about the source of inspiration for Kaito and Ivan’s iconic relationship.

“Champagne?” Yuuri asked Victor holding out a flute.

But before Victor had a chance to respond, his phone buzzed in his jacket. He quickly declined the call but his phone lit up with another call almost immediately.

“Do you have to take that?” Yuuri asked.

“No,” Victor said firmly. He was about to shut his phone off when a text popped up: _It’s about Makkachin. Call me now._

Well, fuck.

He answered the next call, excusing himself from the table. He thought about going out into the hall or down to the lobby but that seemed rude. Then he noticed the small balcony that extended from the living room and stepped outside into the cold.

“Is she okay?” Victor said urgently. “What happened?”

“ _She’s fine,”_ his father answered in Russian. “ _I’m sorry for the deception but there was no other way to reach you. It’s been months now, Victor._ ” His father wasn’t sorry. Victor should’ve known better than to fall for something like that. But his father knew exactly how to twist his arm, use his love for his dog against him.

“You manipulative piece of—” Victor began but was cut off.

“I only wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” his father said, switching to English now. Nicolai was fluent, speaking English with only a slight accent, but he rarely spoke it with Victor. It added a layer of formality now, a forced sense of civility. A distance. Maybe it was safer this way, maybe he thought Victor would be less likely to hang up if he kept that distance, if he acknowledged the transactional nature of their relationship.

Victor looked at the time. It was nearly eleven in New York but it was the twenty-fifth in Russia. His birthday. He was now twenty-three years old. He didn’t know what he was expecting but he didn’t feel any different.

“Okay,” he finally said. “You’ve wished me a happy birthday.”

“Wait!” Nicolai said before he could end the call. “You won’t answer my calls, read my emails. I need to tell you something. It’s important.” Victor paused, waiting. “I know you quit your job.” Of course he knew—he knew everything. “I’ve secured a position for you. It won’t be long hours like before. I’ve been assured that you’ll be home by six every night. It’s private wealth management, and—”

Victor wanted to throw up. He lowered his hand, dropping his phone onto the ground with a small thud.

“Victor?” his father called out, his voice small and far away for once.

He sat down, tapped out of the call and turned off his phone. He curled in on himself, hugging his knees tight. His father hadn’t wanted to wish him a happy birthday. It was always pretense after pretense with him. Layers and layers of deception, always designed with an ulterior motive. It worked when he was younger and more susceptible to his father’s machinations. But as he grew older, he pushed against his father’s control over his life, finally breaking free over the past summer.

If Victor was in a more charitable frame of mind, he might’ve seen his father’s gesture as a ham-fisted attempt at reconciliation, a stupid but well-meaning birthday present. But Victor was not in a charitable frame of mind. Every call with his father went like this. Every interaction left him exhausted, nauseated.

He thought of the last time he saw his father in St. Petersburg, back in June. How that entire trip had been fucked from the beginning.

* * *

 

Victor had gotten the call ten past one in the morning. He’d fallen asleep at work again, waking only from the insistent buzzing of his phone on his desk. Rubbing his eyes, he picked up the cup of coffee by his elbow, long grown cold, and took a sip, wincing at the bitterness.

“Victor Nikiforov speaking,” he said, picking up without checking who called.

“ _Vitya, it’s me_ ,” his father said in Russian.

“ _What time is it?”_ Victor asked, blinking.

“ _Eight. Listen. I have some bad news…_ ”

He got on the first flight to St. Petersburg, sent an email to his boss in the minutes before take off. It took almost a full day by the time he landed, and he was exhausted, having slept not at all on the plane or during the layover in Heathrow. But as soon as he made it out of customs, he hailed a cab and went straight to the hospital. His father was waiting for him in the lobby, placed a heavy hand on his shoulder that was intended to offer comfort.

 _“Where is she?_ ” Victor said, feeling the sleep deprivation crashing all around him, his eyes crossing from exhaustion, his head dizzy and ears fuzzy.

“ _Come. This way_.” Nicolai led them to the elevator and up to the twentieth floor. She was asleep, his beautiful mother, tucked under a blue hospital blanket, her right arm connected to an IV line. She looked like an angel halfway to heaven, her eyes softly closed, her face pale and ashen. He sat by her side as his father explained what had happened.

His mother had relapsed. Thank god Victor’s grand-aunt Lilia had found her when she didn’t show up to their monthly lunch date and called for an ambulance. Victor listened but barely registered what his father was saying. He spent the night by her bed, sleeping over an arm against her bed rail, one hand in hers. The next morning, she opened her eyes, blinked as if the brightness of the sun pained her.

“ _Mama_ ,” Victor said.

“ _Victor_.” Her voice was a rasp and he poured her some water. She was disoriented. They exchanged a few words before she slipped under again.

He placed a soft kiss against the back of her hand and resumed watch over her sleeping figure.

* * *

 

In the years after his parents divorced, Victor had, for the most part, split his time between them unevenly, spending most of the summer between school years and Christmas with his mother and New Years with his father. Outside of perhaps three to four weeks of the year, Victor had little contact with his father except for a short call at the end of the month and occasional email asking how he was performing in school.

Within a year of the divorce, his father had remarried some woman named Katerina and seamlessly moved on to a new life, complete with a new wife and young stepson. They even came with a cat, Potya, despite his father’s previous and well-known intolerance for pets. The only reason Victor had been allowed Makkachin was because of what happened on that awful hunting trip and she was restricted to certain areas of the house despite the fact that poodles didn’t shed and they had a whole team of people who staffed the mansion, keeping every last inch spotless. 

Victor hated spending time at his father’s residence. He hated seeing everyone’s smiling faces at the breakfast table, resented the way his father would kiss his stepmother’s cheek before leaving for work, leave a lingering touch on her hand. Granted, his new stepbrother Yuri wasn’t one of the smiling faces and seemed to be just as miserable as Victor. At least he had Potya, who was allowed to roam freely but often stayed curled around Yuri’s ankles. Victor wasn’t even allowed to bring Makkachin for fear she’d terrify the cat. “I want them to feel welcome and comfortable in their new home,” his father had told him over the phone before his first visit after the wedding. But what about me, Victor thought, but by then he figured it didn’t really matter anymore. He was a liability, he’d always _been_ a liability. At least his father was being honest, at least Victor knew where he stood. He could endure whatever his father threw at him.

But what he couldn’t endure was how his father treated his mother. Nicolai left Yulia Nikiforova with barely anything after nearly fifteen years of marriage. She was unceremoniously kicked out of the family home and installed in a small two bedroom apartment on the other side of the city. Out of sight, out of mind, and Nicolai had expected Victor to essentially do the same. But Victor was loyal to his very core, could never discard people or dogs who had surpassed their usefulness the way his father did. He chose to move out with her, gave her whatever allowance Nicolai supplied him, and for a while, he thought they were happy. At least Makkachin was allowed roam freely and that had to count for something.

Sometimes, late at night when Victor had trouble falling asleep, he’d think about this particular slice of family history and wonder if it’d been his father’s plan all along, if his father knew he’d leave with his mother, thus clearing the way for Nicolai to slot a new family into their place. On their obligatory monthly phone calls during the school year, Victor’s father often filled the long silences by boasting of his stepbrother Yuri’s talent on the ice, how he was already winning international competitions at the novice level, how the team of coaches he’d hired said Yuri had what it took to go all the way. “An Olympic gold medal in the family, can you imagine?” his father said, so casual when he was cruel.

For the most part, Victor was able to ignore his father, focus on school and escape into Kaito and Ivan’s universe through the fandom, writing fics, and making new friends halfway across the world. His mother, however, didn’t fare as well. Her form of escape was less healthy and a year and a half after the divorce, when Victor was fourteen, she entered rehab for the first time.

* * *

 

Victor fell asleep at the hospital and woke again midday, exhausted from jet lag and famished. He rubbed his eyes as he scanned the room, blinking in the harsh white light overhead.

“ _Oh good, you’re awake_ ,” his father said in Russian, sweeping into the room, his presence a black hole sucking the life out of everything. “ _Someone’s here to see you. Come.”_

Victor shook his head in confusion, trying to wake up. He ran a hand through his hair, limp and disgusting from travel. He desperately needed a shower and to brush his teeth but he didn’t want to leave his mother’s side.

“ _Wait_ ,” he said suddenly. “ _Who’s taking care of Makka?_ ”

“ _She’s at home,_ ” Nicolai said, and at Victor’s confusion, he added, “ _Your mother didn’t tell you? She’s at my house. Don’t worry, she’s being taken care of. You can see her when you get back_.”

Victor felt more confused than ever. Had his father remembered Makkachin, had he sent someone over to get her? Maybe it was Lilia who came back for Makka.

Nicolai led them back out to the waiting area, where a gangly fourteen year old in a blue Russian team jacket was waiting for them, hand clutching a messy bouquet of wildflowers.

“ _Victor_ ,” he said, barely bothering to look up. It was clear that he’d been forced here by Nicolai, it was clear he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“ _Yuri_ ,” Victor said, head tilting in acknowledgement.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Yuri mumbled, eyes on the wall, one foot kicking slightly, scuffing the floor with his shoe.

Victor didn’t have time for this kind of bullshit. He didn’t have time to babysit, to _coddle_ his idiot stepbrother.

“ _What do you have to be sorry for? Why are you even here?_ ” he snapped and felt both satisfaction and guilt at seeing the hurt on Yuri’s face. Victor knew it wasn’t Yuri’s fault that his father forced him to come here, to make this false display of familial closeness, but still, Yuri shouldn’t be here. He had no right, he didn’t belong here. He’d never even met Victor’s mom as far as Victor knew. He didn’t care. 

“ _Victor, don’t be rude!_ ” Nicolai admonished. “ _Yuri just got silver at the World Junior Championships, you know that_.” His father must’ve told him during one of their inane calls but Victor had forgotten. “ _He took time out of practice and school to be here. I didn’t tell him to come, he decided on his own, brought the flowers on his own_.” Victor glanced at Yuri, whose ears had turned pink.

Victor was too tired to decide if his father was telling the truth or not, so without another word, he turned on his feet and returned to his mother’s bedside.

* * *

 

Later, when Victor was back at his father’s house in his old bedroom, he collapsed on the bed, slipping into sleep almost immediately. The next morning, he woke up still in his clothes, belt and shoes on. His head throbbed even though he hadn’t drank a drop of wine in the last forty-eight hours. For a moment, he was disoriented, almost called out for Chris before he realized where he was. He sat up and bumped into a pile of fur next to him. Someone must’ve let Makkachin in last night. He’d been too exhausted to take care of her when he came back to the townhouse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and she sighed in her sleep, turning to snuggle closer. Victor felt the first tear slide down his face. “I’m sorry, Makka.” She stirred, blinked in the morning light and placed a gentle paw on his shoulder which only made Victor cry harder. They stayed like that in bed, two best friends together again, finally.

“I’m just so lost, Makkachin. Tell me what I’m doing wrong.” She licked his tears away, released a low, sympathetic whine. Victor wanted to stay there with her, shut out the world but their reunion was interrupted by Victor’s father.

“I need to speak with you, Victor,” Nicolai said, knocking on his door. He was speaking in English, and from Victor’s experience, it meant Nicolai was attempting to secure more privacy from the household staff. 

He didn’t respond, didn’t move, stroking Makkachin softly along her neck.

“Victor. Now.” That was the tone his father used as a threat though Victor never knew what exactly he was threatening, that’s how large Nicolai loomed.

Finally, Victor pulled himself away and pulled open the door.

“Come. Your breakfast is getting cold,” his father said, leading them into the dining room, Makkachin sticking close by his side.

“What did you want to talk to me about,” he said, not bothering to sit down.

“Eat something. Have some tea,” Nicolai said but Victor ignored him and remained standing.

“I need to wash up and get back to the hospital,” he said.

“That’s what I want to talk about,” Nicolai said. “I’ve spoken with your mother and we both think it’s best if you went back to New York as soon as possible. She’s stable now, she’ll get the best of care, I promise.”

“What?” Victor said, his voice weak.

“Yes. You just started your job, and—”

“Fuck that,” Victor said, staring at his father in shock. He was delusional if he thought Victor would just leave now, for work of all things.

“Your mother and I, we _both_ agree—”

“When did you speak to her?”

“This morning.”

Victor pulled out his phone, looked at the time. “It’s only eight in the morning. When did you go?”

“I didn’t. We spoke on the phone.” Nicolai remained calm, his expression neutral if slightly annoyed. It was clear he saw nothing wrong in what he was saying, in the fact he hadn’t even bothered to talk to her in person at the hospital. “Call her if you like. She’ll tell you the same things I’m telling you now. She wants what’s best for you, and what’s best for you is to go back to New York, to you job and life there.” Victor could imagine exactly how that call went, could almost hear his father bullying his mother into agreement, into going along with whatever he wanted. Just like he’d done for years, before and after their marriage ended. 

“Did you know?” Victor asked, changing the subject. “Did you know she was struggling?”

“We’re talking about you, Vitya,” his father said and Victor glared at him. “And what’s best for you. You just graduated, just started a new job. This is a crucial time in your life to—”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Victor said.

“You don’t care?” he scoffed. “Don’t be stupid.” As Nicolai continued to press his case, Victor squeezed his eyes closed tight, trying to shut his father out.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Victor said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nicolai said, the anger and impatience growing in his voice.

“You loved her, right?” he said. “Isn’t this what happens to the people you love? Isn’t this what you do to them? You knew. You _knew_ and you did nothing.” Victor was screaming now. “When you left her, you left her with nothing. What is money to you anyway? How much do you have? Do you even know? You have more than you could ever spend in this life. More than I could. But you begrudged her every nickel, every dime.” Makkachin scratched at Victor’s feet in agitation and began to pace around the two of them.

“I didn’t know it was this bad, Vitya. Try to be reasonable.”

“How could you not? You know everything. You know I send everything you give me to her, I’ve been doing it for years. You knew that and did nothing.”

“That’s enough! I won’t sit here and be spoken to like this in my own home. I have many regrets but I won’t take responsibility for this. Your mother made her choices in life. Now she has to suffer the consequences. No one is exempt from the effects of their choices. No one held a gun to her head—”

“She’s UNWELL!” Victor was hoarse from screaming. The tears were coming so fast he couldn’t see clearly anymore. “But you don’t care. You’d rather she just die and save you the trouble.” Makkachin began to bark, joining in the argument, but Victor was too upset to comfort her.

“What is that supposed to mean?” His father’s eyes narrowed.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“You really don’t remember?”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the time you murdered an innocent dog who was only doing what you trained her to do. You justified it as a mercy killing but that was just a convenient lie, wasn’t it? That’s how you take responsibility for _your_ choices, _your_ mistakes, isn’t it? You didn’t even _try_ to help her, you just—”

“I did not force your mother to take pills—”

“No, you didn’t physically restrain her and shove them down her throat but who drove her to it? Who was the one who made life so unbearable, she had nowhere to turn but—”

Victor didn’t see it coming, though later, he thought he really should have. He was standing there, shouting at his father one second and on the floor the next, his hand clutching the left side of his face, his ear ringing violently. But it wasn’t the pain that wounded him, it was the humiliation. That at the age of twenty-two, his father could still do this to him. Makkachin was crouched on the floor beside him, growling at his father. Victor reached for her. She began to whine and it sounded like _she_ was crying too.

“Enough.” Nicolai looked down at him from above, his eyes ablaze with fury. In all their years together, Victor had never seen his father like this. Unrestrained, out of control. This, he couldn’t help thinking, _this_ was the true face of his father. Deep beneath the veneer of a decent, respectable businessman was a monster.

Nicolai tugged at his cuffs, straightening the sleeves of his suit jacket, then turned to leave when he looked up and suddenly froze. Victor followed his gaze and saw Yuri standing by the door, staring at them with wide eyes.

* * *

 

Sitting outside on Yuuri’s balcony, Victor tried to shake off the ghosts of his past. He looked up when the door opened suddenly, Yuuri stepping out, Victor’s coat folded over an arm.

“It’s been a while, thought you might be cold,” he said.

“How long has it been?” Victor asked, still lost in his memories.

“It’s a little past midnight. So…Merry Christmas!” Yuuri said, attempting to inject some cheer in his voice.

“Merry Christmas,” Victor said, managing a weak smile.

“You okay?” Yuuri said, sounding worried.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Go back inside, spend time with your family.”

“Oh. Actually they’re gone,” Yuuri said, surprising him.

“What?”

“Yeah, they went back to the hotel they’re staying at.”

“I thought they were staying here,” Victor said and Yuuri just shook his head softly.

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“Sorry,” Victor said. “You probably want to get some sleep. It’s late, I should go home.”

Yuuri surprised him again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to bed anytime soon.” At Victor’s confusion, he added, “I don’t need much sleep. I have insomnia so I’m pretty used to it.”

Victor didn’t respond, not knowing what to say.

Yuuri went back inside but as Victor slipped on his coat to leave, Yuuri came back out with thick blankets, a bottle of champagne, and two flutes, joining him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yuuri said, filling the glasses completely.

“Not really. Do you?” Victor said, taking his glass and draining it. Yuuri poured him another without comment.

“About what? The insomnia?” Yuuri sipped at his glass, staring up at the dark sky. It had begun to snow again, a light dusting of it settling on his hair, landing on his eyelashes. He looked so beautiful, wrapped up in a thick blue blanket, face tilted up toward the snow. “There’s not much to talk about. I lie in bed and I can’t sleep. That’s pretty much it.”

“Has it always been like that?” Victor asked, feeling grateful to have something else to talk about, someone else to focus on.

“It started on and off my second year of college and never really went away,” Yuuri said, turning toward Victor. “Whenever people hear that, they think it must’ve been the stress of writing those books, or the constant media attention, but it wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I _was_ stressed about the books and attention. But I was still sleeping through most nights back then.” Now it was Yuuri who drained his glass, refilling it and topping off Victor’s.

“What happened?” Victor asked softly.

Yuuri turned away again, looking straight ahead at the faraway lights of the city that never slept.

“A boy broke up with me. It’s a pretty stupid reason, isn’t it?” Yuuri shook his head like it was the most ridiculous thing.

“No,” Victor said. “It’s not.”

“We met in high school,” he said. “And senior year, we applied to all the same schools and got lucky when we both got into Columbia, which made the decision easy. He took a gap year with me after graduation so we’d start college together, volunteering abroad while I worked on the first book.” Yuuri’s voice sounded far away, lost in time. Victor couldn’t help but stare at him, too surprised by this unexpected confession to do anything but keep his eyes on Yuuri.

“We were pretty naive. We had it all figured out.” Yuuri laughed but there was no warmth in his voice. “In the end, it was all a little too much for him, the books, the attention. _I_ was a little much for him.” Yuuri poured out another glass and gulped it down. “Said he didn’t know who I was anymore. Said I was a liability.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor said softly.

“It was a rough few years after we broke up but I got over it eventually. The insomnia kind of just stuck around, I guess.”

A rough few years. Victor did the math. That would’ve covered the publication of the third book and the months that followed. He turned away from Yuuri, staring down at his hands.

“Anyway. Sorry, I don’t normally do this. I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that on you. You’re just really easy to talk to.”

Victor remained quiet. Guilt creeped through him. Before he met Yuuri, Victor only had his side of the story. Yuuri Katsuki was a deity who had everything—money, fame, adoring fans—and he had destroyed Victor in an act of malice. But now that Victor had even the smallest glimpse of the full picture, he could no longer cast Yuuri Katsuki in the role of pure villain.

It didn’t make what he did okay. It didn’t make Victor’s pain any less real. But it did make Yuuri a little more human.

Victor thought about confessing then and there. He didn’t want to be on Yuuri’s balcony, welcomed into his family and his home on Christmas when Yuuri didn’t know the truth. He thought about confessing, he really did, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out. Not wanting to end whatever it was that was growing between them, Victor remained silent.

“Alright. It’s getting too cold for me,” Yuuri said, standing up.

Victor started to get up too but Yuuri waved him off.

“Stay as long as you want.”

“I’ll come in soon,” Victor said and watched as Yuuri disappeared back inside.

Alone again, Victor stood up, elbows resting against the balcony. Yuuri’s apartment was on the highest floor and looking out where he stood reminded him of being on the roof of his father’s home back in St. Petersburg. It was his favorite place as a kid, somewhere safe, somewhere he could be alone. When he was twelve, he’d go up with Makkachin and the two of them would watch the sun set and the night come to life, a city of skyscrapers and stars not unlike where he was now.

He’d spent his final evening in St. Petersburg there. His mother had been discharged from the hospital and checked into rehab, and he was booked on the first flight out the next morning. With Makkachin in tow, he stared up at the clouds above. Lying down, he rested his head against clasped palms and closed his eyes. Makka lay down beside him, her head resting on his stomach.

“Oh.”

Victor turned, saw his stepbrother standing by the hatch. Makka’s ears perked but she didn’t bother to move.

“I’ll go,” Yuri said, already leaving.

“No, it’s okay,” Victor said. Maybe he was too tired to fight, maybe he was lonely.

Yuri sat beside him, his knees up, arms around his legs. Victor remain reclined, eyes on the clouds above.

“It really sucks. What happened with your mom.” Yuri’s eyes softened, half-shielded by his hair. He was saying sorry, Victor realized. For showing up at the hospital when he was unwelcome, for what he’d witnessed earlier between Nicolai and him. Victor had always resented Yuri’s presence in his life, but it was easy to forget that Yuri was just a kid.

“So I hear you’re a pretty good skater,” Victor said with a wry smile. He was teasing Yuri, making fun of his father’s obnoxious habit of reminding everyone of Yuri’s talent on the ice.

“Shut up,” Yuri said but he was smiling too.

“I hear you’re so good you won the Junior World Championships,” he said, still teasing.

“I didn’t.” At Victor’s questioning glance, he added, “I got silver. It’s not a big deal or anything.”

“Seems like a pretty big deal.”

“Yeah, well. I wanted gold.”

Victor laughed.

“Next year,” Yuri said, like it was a promise. Victor sat up, disturbing Makkachin, who grumbled but lifted her head up.

“Do you like skating? Are you happy?” Victor asked, genuinely curious.

Yuri nodded.

Victor buried a hand in Makkachin’s fur, scratching behind her ears. 

“What about you?” Yuri said, not quite meeting his eyes.

“What about me?” Victor said.

“Are you happy? In New York?”

Victor thought about his life in New York. His job and his apartment with Christophe. He thought about every single step he’d taken to arrive at this point in his life. The fancy boarding school in Paris, then his years at Cornell, every step carefully considered and chosen for him. The internships at various banks arranged by his father through his vast network of international connections. He’d agreed to it all without thinking too much about it, without _really_ thinking about it at all. Without understanding that each step was another nail in his coffin, that at his juncture in his life, he was as good as dead, the way he felt.

He thought of his mother, in rehab for the second time, and he thought of his father, the master of his universe. He couldn’t remember the last time he was happy. Burying his face in Makka’s fur, he wanted to hide from the world, from his responsibilities, his life. Then it came to him like a flash of lightning—the last time he was truly happy. He was in Paris, up long after Chris had gone to bed, his fingers flying across the keyboard, the words pouring out of him. Lost in Kaito and Ivan’s world, he had been happy.

“Victor?” Yuri said softly, breaking his reverie.

“No,” he said, finally. “I’m not happy.” He watched the summer sun linger above. It felt early, like he had all the time in the world, but Victor knew that was only a false sense of comfort.

* * *

 

Eventually, the cold and snow drove Victor inside. Yuuri had left the champagne flutes and bottle outside and Victor picked them up, the glasses softly clinking.

“Hey,” he said when he spotted Yuuri in the kitchen cleaning up. Victor shrugged off his coat and joined him.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Yuuri began.

“I want to,” Victor said and Yuuri smiled, handing him a dishcloth.

“You’re pretty great, you know that?” Yuuri said.

Victor’s lips parted in surprise at the unexpected compliment.

“I don’t want you to get a big head though. Well, a _bigger_ head anyway,” he said, eyes flicking to Victor’s forehead, sly smile spreading across his face.

Victor gasped in shock. “Yuuri!”

He just laughed, bumped his shoulder against Victor’s.

“That’s brutal. I’m wounded.”

Yuuri laughed again and Victor thought, _is he_ flirting _with me?_ Maybe it was the champagne talking. Yuuri’s cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes full of mischief. Fourteen year old Victor would have died of happiness. Eighteen year old Victor would’ve died of anger. But what about twenty-three year old Victor, he wondered. For the first time in a long time, the past remained in the past and Victor let himself just enjoy this moment, here with Yuuri.

“I’m going to have to tell Phichit about this,” Yuuri said.

“About what?”

“He _never_ helped me clean up. That’s how he started answering emails for me, you know. After we became roommates he said he’d trade anything to avoid doing chores around the house. Pretty sure I got the better end of the deal though.” Before Victor had a chance to respond, Yuuri continued without missing a beat, “Hey, you know what? You should go with me on tour.”

“What?” Victor said, breathless.

“Yeah!” Yuuri said.

“Maybe you should think about it and make a decision tomorrow,” Victor said. “When you’re a little more sober?”

“For your information, I’m completely sober.” Yuuri glared at him, clearly not sober.

“Um.”

“Come on the press tour with me. It’ll be fun. Okay, I lied, it’s not fun at all—you’re mostly stuck in fancy hotels answering the same questions from a bunch of reporters. But you should still come. I like hanging out with you.”

Victor stared blankly at Yuuri’s hopeful expression.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“Great! I’ll email the producers right now,” Yuuri said, abandoning the dishes to grab his phone.

Victor knew it was probably a bad idea. Probably a terrible idea. And he didn’t say yes because it would be a great opportunity or because he’d get to meet a lot of important people. He said yes because he simply wanted to spend more time with Yuuri, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet.

“Okay, I’ll just need your full name and birthday so they can book the flights,” Yuuri said, handing his phone over. Victor typed it out and passed it back.

Yuuri scanned over the email.

“Um. December 25?” Yuuri looked up in confusion, glanced up at the ceiling like he was counting. “That’s today, isn’t it? Your birthday’s on Christmas?”

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Yuuri said, frowning.

“It’s not a big deal,” Victor said.

“We should do something to celebrate,” he said.

Victor just shook his head. “You’ve already given me more than you know.”

* * *

 

When Victor came back home at the end of June, he went into his office straight from JFK, suitcase and all, cleared out his desk, taking down the few personal possessions he had—a picture of him with his mother at the beach, a picture of him when he first got Makka, the apricot ball of fluff asleep on his chest. Ignoring all the questions and strange looks from coworkers, he marched into his boss’s office and quit on the spot, walking out of the building feeling a million pounds lighter.

For the first time in his life, Victor had no idea what was next and he found it exhilarating.

The last six months had taken its toll on Victor though, slowly wearing away at that feeling. But now, at two in the morning on his twenty-third birthday, he felt that spark again. He felt weightless, like he could fly if he only jumped.

As soon as he got back to his apartment, Victor sat down at his desk and opened a blank document.

He took a deep breath and began again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments, wow. You guys give me so much encouragement and motivation and I can't tell you how grateful I am. 
> 
> I managed to post this when I said I would, yay! Unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to do that again. This chapter ended up being double the length of each of the first three chapters and I couldn't find a way to break it into two. And then of course I got super stressed out about posting on time. So going forward, I'm hoping to update every two to three weeks, but won't be able to say for sure due to chapter length variation. Please be patient with me--I promise I am working on this as fast as I can! <3
> 
> Up next: The press tour! 
> 
> Random notes:  
> So here's why Toshiya is the one behind Yuuri's favorite katsudon! I read an insightful tumblr post about this with screenshots (but I can't find it anymore, argh) and basically, if you go through the first couple of episodes, you never, ever see Hiroko in the kitchen. She's unloading beer, or serving guests, but not in the kitchen. Toshiya, however, is shown in the kitchen a lot, like when Minako is watching skating in the first episode and Toshiya talks to one of the patrons from the kitchen. I don't know why I found this to be so cool but yeah, that's why in case anyone is wondering (narrator: no one was wondering). ^^;;
> 
> Also, I love writing tipsy!Yuuri, he's so sweet but also hilarious (apologies to Victor re: his forehead!)


	5. I'll give you my best side, tell you all my best lies

From: Yuri Plisetsky

To: Victor Nikiforov

Subject: birthday

Date sent: 12/26

Sorry I didn't call or email yesterday. I was competing at nationals. My short program is on youtube if you want to see it or whatever. Hope your birthday didn't suck.

Yuri

 

* * *

 

From: Victor Nikiforov

To: Yuri Plisetsky

Subject: Re: birthday

Date sent: 12/26

Wow. You're amazing. The commentator said this is your senior debut but you'll probably make it onto the podium?

 

* * *

 

From: Yuri Plisetsky

To: Victor Nikiforov

Subject: Re: birthday

Date sent: 12/26

Yeah. The long program is tomorrow but it's at like 3am where you are.

 

* * *

 

From: Victor Nikiforov

To: Yuri Plisetsky

Subject: Re: birthday

Date sent: 12/28

Someone finally uploaded a video of your long program to youtube. You really are amazing. A silver at your first senior nationals, wow. The commentators said that was virtually unheard of. Congratulations, Yuri.

 

* * *

 

From: Yuri Plisetsky

To: Victor Nikiforov

Subject: Re: birthday

Date sent: 12/28

It’s not a big deal. I’ll be at junior worlds in a few months. I can send you a streaming link then, if you want to watch. Or not, whatever.

 

* * *

 

From: Victor Nikiforov

To: Yuri Plisetsky

Subject: Re: birthday

Date sent: 12/28

I’d like that.

 

* * *

 

The Katsukis left two days after Christmas. Victor saw them off at the airport, felt a sense of loss he couldn’t explain on the entire subway ride to JFK. For four days, they had welcomed him into their family, included him in the casual teasing, inside jokes, warm laughter. By the end, Hiroko was calling him Vicchan, and Mari and Toshiya had baked him a birthday cake. Minako never seemed to warm to him though. She wasn’t cold or rude but she maintained a certain distance. Victor caught her studying him, eyes often shifting between him and Yuuri. At the airport, as they all said their goodbyes, she pulled him aside. 

“You like him, don’t you?” Minako asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

Victor didn’t know how to respond, his eyes wide, a deer caught in the headlights. _No_ , he wanted to protest. He looked over at Yuuri, standing with his parents at the check-in kiosk. Five days ago, Victor might’ve been able to lie to himself, claim he was just there to do his job and go home, claim he still hated Yuuri for all the pain he’d caused him all those years ago. Five days ago was an entire lifetime away.

“You like him, but you’re not going to do anything about it, are you?” Minako said impassively. “Neither is he, you know.” She shook her head before turning to rejoin the group. “I’ll see you and Yuuri in London.” For a moment, Victor didn’t know what she was talking about before he remembered the international premiere at the end of January.

“See you,” he said to no one in particular.

 

* * *

 

The tour kicked off in Barcelona a few days after New Year’s. Yuuri had been right, they spent all their time stuck in hotel banquet rooms with Yuuri talking to journalists, filming little clips for local television stations, fielding the same questions again and again for various newspapers, magazines, online blogs.

Victor stayed out of the way, watched Yuuri repeat the answers. Yes, he was sad to see the story come to a close. No, he still had no plans to revisit the story. Yes, the studio had initially wanted to split the last book into two movies, but Yuuri had fought against it and won. No, he hadn’t spent much time on set, but yes, he did have a cameo in it just like the other two films and no, he wouldn’t hint at where to look—he wanted it to be a surprise.

“Do you think they’ll be surprised, your fans?” asked a local TV anchor. “The whole world already knows how it ends.” He was referring to Kaito’s death and the furor surrounding the publication of the third book. He was trying to stir up shit, provoke a response from Yuuri.

Victor frowned, standing off to the side, his back against the wall. From his vantage point, he could see behind the camera. Yuuri’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the sudden shift in questioning and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead but it was less obvious on screen. Victor’s chest tightened with worry, he wanted to rush over, turn off the camera and punch the shit-eating grin off the reporter’s face.

Yuuri blinked and cleared his throat before answering: “Yes, I think they’ll be surprised.”

“What an asshole,” Victor said when they broke for lunch. All press had been ushered out and food brought in, hot trays of seafood paella, calamari sandwiches, and a large charcuterie spread.

“It’s fine. That was nothing, to be honest.” Away from the cameras and prying eyes, Yuuri let his shoulders drop, let his eyes lose focus as he stared off in the distance. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t been sleeping much, maybe not at all. The make up artist who touched him up before every on camera interview had done a good job of covering the shadows under his eyes but Victor had spent enough time with Yuuri to notice the subtle signs.

“I’ve never been in Barcelona,” Victor lied, “We don’t have anything on the schedule tonight. Let’s go out.”

Yuuri looked up in surprise. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Victor said.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” Yuuri said suddenly. “You’ve never been here and you’re stuck with me at the hotel all day. You should go. Take the afternoon off and do some sightseeing. It’s not like there’s much for you to do here.” Yuuri’s smile was kind but Victor’s throat tightened.

“Come with me,” Victor said quietly and to his surprise, Yuuri nodded after a moment, not fighting him.

The rest of the day went smoother, with one of the studio’s publicists standing guard by Yuuri’s side. Sara vetted each reporter’s list of questions again and told them they’d be promptly kicked out if they strayed off script.

Not every question was about the film, or even the third book. They weren’t all even questions. A couple of reporters just wanted to comment on the diversity in the books and movies.

“I grew up on a a steady diet of fantasy novels,” Yuuri replied. “And it always bothered me that so few books included characters from different backgrounds. The usual defense is that these books are based on medieval European history, or some other part of European history. And that supposedly justified the lack of diversity in terms of race, gender, sexuality, and so on. But that never made any sense to me. There weren’t any fire-breathing dragons in human history as far as I know, and they made it into the books.”

Victor had heard that answer from Yuuri many times before. It’d meant the world to him when he was younger and it still meant the world to him hearing it again now. Reading the _Ice Prince_ trilogy had been a revelation, and its success had opened the floodgates and revitalized the fantasy genre. Watching Yuuri talk about the books again, Victor remembered how he felt when he first read them, found it all too easy to fall in love again.

 

* * *

 

After the interviews, they went to a handful of bookstores around the city, where Yuuri sat down and patiently signed hundreds of books. The evening had looked deceptively open on their schedule but they didn’t finish until nine at night. They wandered into the nearest restaurant and feasted on steamed mussels, grilled octopus and chorizo, soft shell crabs and poached eggs. It was almost eleven by the time they made it back to their hotel.

“You go on in,” Yuuri said, stopping in front of the glass doors. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Victor asked, stifling a yawn. By the end of the day, Victor wanted to collapse in bed and sleep for a million years.

“No,” Yuuri said. “I’m mostly tired of sitting around being interviewed or signing books.” Victor had seen him at it all day. The smiles and recitation of the same answers to the same questions. Despite his lack of sleep, the dark circles under his eyes, Yuuri had powered through all of it. It wasn’t just mentally exhausting, it was physically demanding, holding himself still, back straight, head held high, smile fixed on his face. Just watching Yuuri being interviewed had drained Victor, his limbs stiff, neck sore. And now, as they stood in front of their hotel at eleven o’clock, Yuuri wanted to go on a walk.

“I’ll go with you,” Victor said. “Unless you want to be alone?”

They walked along the water, staring out at the gentle waves under the moon, the lights from boats that dotted the horizon. It reminded him of St. Petersburg, the cries of seagulls, the taste of salt in the air.

“You haven’t read the books, right?” Yuuri asked suddenly.

Victor froze, unsure of what to say. So far, he’d done a spectacular job of compartmentalizing all of his feelings. He kept the angry part of himself under lock and key, and every so often that anger rattled in its makeshift cage, reminding him of its existence. Even so, that part of him no longer burned with the same rage and hurt as it once did and it was almost too easy to forget the past. Spending all his time with Yuuri had dulled all of his sharp edges and more and more, Victor found himself feeling not anger but guilt—for his role in everything that’d happened five years ago, however innocent. 

He could come clean, tell the truth—the whole truth. He could lie and say he’d read them recently, after he started working for Yuuri. Or he could remain frozen, his silence an implicit yes.

“Well, you’re not really missing out,” Yuuri said, sighing. “Everyone hates them.” That wasn’t true. The third book may not have been well-received but the books were still beloved. They sold millions and millions of copies, they were translated in over twenty languages, the first two movies had set records. Yuuri looked miserable and Victor wanted to wrap an arm around his shoulders and make him see how great the books really were. How great Yuuri was. “Do you know how it ends?” Yuuri asked, eyes searching Victor’s face. “Even if you haven’t read the books, you’ve probably heard of the ending.”

Victor managed a nod, encouraging Yuuri to continue.

“I never talk about this with the press, but my editor and I fought about it. A lot. For months. She kept warning me against ending the series the way I did. And the reception the book got after its release only proved her right. She never said _I told you so_ but I could tell that was exactly what she was thinking.” Yuuri turned away from him, staring up at the sky, at the bright curve of the moon. “I just wanted it to be _real_. I wanted it to be true to life. Not everything works out.” Yuuri stared down at his hands, unable to meet Victor’s eyes. “But what do I know? I guess it was bound to happen, the truth was bound to come out.”

“What are you talking about?” Victor asked in a whisper. A single gull cried off in the distance, a lonely, abandoned sound.

“I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. I didn’t get published the normal way. Minako’s a writer too, and I was staying with her while finishing high school. She read the first draft of _Ice Prince_ and sent it to her friend who worked in publishing and well, the rest is history.” Victor already knew all of this but he kept quiet, waiting for Yuuri to open up. “But what if I didn’t have someone like Minako in my life? What if she didn’t send it to Celestino, or what if she didn’t know someone like Celestino? There’s no way any of this would’ve happened.” Yuuri gestured all around them, at the water and city around them, at the whole world. “And sometimes I think that’s the way it should’ve been. I took something that should never have been mine to begin with, I reached too far and wanted too much. I think about that all the time,” he confessed.

Victor’s heart broke, shattered into a million brittle shards.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said softly. “I shouldn’t have unloaded all of that on you. You don’t have to say anything, I know there’s nothing you really _can_ say to something like that. Come on, it’s late, let’s go back.” He touched a light hand to Victor’s arm before turning in the direction of the hotel.

Victor watched Yuuri walk away, his shoulders hunched, head down, and he let go of the last remnants of the anger and resentment he’d once held so tightly. It wasn’t because he pitied Yuuri Katsuki. It was because for the first time in a long, long time, Victor didn’t feel so alone.

When he read _Ice Prince_ for the first time, it had felt like Yuuri was speaking to him directly. Like Yuuri was the only person in the world who could understand him. That was part of why the books were so popular, the intimacy of the writing and the vulnerability of its characters. Back then, it was easy to dismiss his feelings as those of a hardcore fan’s because Victor didn’t actually know Yuuri. Now that he did, he couldn’t help but think that maybe Yuuri _did_ understand him, that maybe he understood Yuuri in turn, and that together, they didn’t have to be alone.

They were both so lost. The disparity of their positions didn’t matter, they were both adrift with no direction, no calling. They had both been abandoned, deemed liabilities—Victor by his father, Yuuri by a boyfriend. They were both writers struggling to write. They both had something to say but for one reason or another, remained unable to say it.

Victor didn’t think about how temporary their situation was, he didn’t think about how to tell Yuuri that he was iceprince-v, he didn’t think about how Yuuri would react once he found out. He only thought, _I want to stay close to him_. Victor made a decision then and there. He just wouldn’t tell Yuuri. It was a harmless lie, really, an innocent little white lie. He wasn’t iceprince-v anymore and Yuuri wasn’t the same person as the one who’d sent Victor that awful message five years ago. It didn’t hurt anyone. Yuuri would never have to know. In fact, Victor reasoned, he was protecting Yuuri, sparing his feelings.

He ran after Yuuri and they walked beside one another quietly, entered the hotel and rode the elevator up to their floor without a single word, the silence at turns comfortable and at turns tense. As they left the elevator, Yuuri paused. “I know you haven’t read the books, and I don’t want to be the guy who makes you read his books, but could you? Read them?”

“Of course,” Victor said, feeling a little breathless.

“Let me know what you think?” Yuuri said with an anxious frown. “Be honest though, okay? I—I want to know what you really think.”

Victor couldn’t understand why Yuuri would even care about what he thought, but he nodded firmly. “I will.”

It was midnight by the time he climbed under the covers but he didn’t turn off the lights. He’d hoped to get some writing done once he got back to his room but he pushed his laptop away. Instead, he ordered Yuuri’s books on his phone and even though he’d read them a million times, he read the first sentence and was instantly lost in Yuuri’s world.

 

* * *

 

Madrid. Berlin. Paris. Early mornings and late nights. Rounds and rounds of interviews and signings. The days began to blur together, the cities, the airports, and faces.

They never spoke of it again. Yuuri never asked him if he’d read the books, acted like they’d never talked about it in the first place. In fact, Yuuri was acting progressively more distant, barely speaking to Victor at all.

At first, Victor chalked it up to exhaustion, the travel and tedium of promoting the final film. He tried to engage Yuuri, pull him out of his shell. Victor wanted him to be happy, he wanted to _make_ him happy.

“Yuuri, let’s go grab a bite to eat.”

“I’m not hungry, thanks.”

“Yuuri, let’s go sightseeing.”

“Go on without me.”

“Yuuri, let’s go for a nighttime walk.”

“I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

Victor watched Yuuri walk away from him time and again. Each attempt to draw Yuuri out seemed to only push him further away. After a week of this, Victor could no longer pretend it was just the exhaustion of the press tour.

Early on their last morning in Paris, Victor knocked on Yuuri’s door. He answered almost immediately, still in his clothes from the night before. He clearly hadn’t slept.

“Come on,” Victor said. “We’re going for a walk.” Maybe it was the firmness in his voice, or the way he narrowed his eyes, but Yuuri obeyed, putting on his coat and boots.

“We have—” Yuuri began.

“I know we have a thing. We always have a thing, followed by another thing. It’s endless. Turn off your phone, we’re taking a break.”

“But—” Yuuri began to protest before he thought better of it, turning his phone off. “Okay.”

They took the train to the Jardin des Plantes and began to walk west along the Seine. The earliness of the hour and the January cold meant they were almost entirely alone. Not long after they started, snow began to drift down lazily and Victor tilted his head back to feel it tickle his face. It’d been years since he’d lived in Paris but in many ways, he was home again.

“I read the books,” he said, turning to Yuuri.

Yuuri kept his eyes on the water, his expression unreadable.

“I—” Victor began.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to read them,” Yuuri said quietly. “It was self-indulgent. And I already know what you’re going to say.” Yuuri frowned, still not meeting his eyes.

“Okay. So then tell me, Yuuri, what was I going to say?” Victor asked, letting his annoyance seep into his voice. Yuuri looked up in surprise. Victor rarely spoke to him with such directness, almost never called him by his first name.

“You were going to tell me how amazing they were,” Yuuri said, shaking his head dismissively. “You were going to tell me all the critics were wrong. Et cetera, et cetera.”

It was Victor’s turn to look surprised. “Really? That’s what you thought I’d say?”

“Isn’t it?” This time Yuuri was more pointed. “You’ve been tiptoeing around me since we met, and after I asked you to read the books, you’ve been even worse. You’re constantly hovering over me like a mother hen, asking me to dinner, to go _sightseeing_. I overheard you speaking French at Charles de Gaulle. You’ve clearly been to Paris, probably to Barcelona, Madrid, and Berlin too. What are you doing, Victor? I don’t need you to baby me. I know you think I’m weak and pathetic—”

“What?” Victor stepped back, his hips hitting the railing. “That’s what you think?”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Yuuri challenged.

“Okay, so I’ve been to all these places. So what? And okay, I speak French. I went to school in Paris, and I lived here for almost ten years. Did it ever occur to you that I simply wanted to show you some of my favorite places, or that I just wanted to spend time with you outside of hotel conference rooms and bookstores?” Victor sighed in frustration, running a gloved hand through his hair, shaking some of the snow free. “You’re not weak. No one who knows you would think that about you. Phichit, your mom and dad, Mari, Minako—none of them think you’re weak.” Victor wished Yuuri could just see himself the way everyone else saw him, if only just for a moment.

Yuuri sat down on a nearby bench, seemed to curl into himself, drawing his legs in, chin resting on his knees.

“I just—” Victor sighed. “I just want you to be happy. You invited me to come with you. What do you need from me? What do you want from me? Do you just want me to simply be your assistant, answer your emails and work your schedule?” It had become clear to everyone—the producers, the director, the publicists and marketing team, the lead actors, even—that Victor wasn’t just there to fetch Yuuri coffee. That Yuuri would never even _ask_ Victor to get him coffee.

“No,” Yuuri said, not looking up.

“Do you want me to be like a brother or just a friend?”

“No.” Yuuri sounded miserable.

“Then what? Who do you want me to be?” Victor asked, sitting next to him on the bench.

“I—” Yuuri dropped his legs, his boots landing with a soft thud. “I don’t want you to be anything other than who you are, Victor.”

That caught Victor off guard. He stared at Yuuri, eyes wide, lips parted but unsure of what to say. Unsure of what to think. What Yuuri said begged the question: just who was Victor anyway?

Yuuri seemed to be unaware of Victor’s impending existential crisis. He continued, “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I wanted you to like the books, and I guess I was worried you’d see all my shortcomings and wonder why the hell anyone would waste their time reading my work.”

It pained Victor to hear him tear himself down like that. He touched Yuuri’s hand lightly. “Do you want me to tell you what I really thought?”

Yuuri nodded, looked as if he were bracing for impact.

“I did love it. And I’m not just saying that because that’s what you want to hear. I loved the characters, the world. Honestly, I wanted to crawl into the book and never leave.” It was true, ever since he’d read the first book, Victor had wanted to belong in Kaito and Ivan’s world so much it _ached_. “But you’re right. The ending was really sad. I cried when Kaito died.” Just thinking about it again brought tears to his eyes.

“If it’s any consolation, I cried too when I wrote it,” Yuuri said.

Victor shook his head gently. “It’s not much consolation.” 

Yuuri sighed. “I was in a dark place, and it just seemed like it was all a lie.”

“What was?”

“Love,” Yuuri said, finally meeting Victor’s eyes, and despite the flurries and wind, Victor didn’t feel cold. His hand was still on Yuuri’s. He’d never been this close before. All that separated them were their gloves, just two thin layers of leather and fabric.

“You can’t believe that,” Victor said.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore,” Yuuri said with finality, like he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. They both got up and continued their walk along the Seine.

As they reached Pont de l’Archevêché, Victor paused. “They really did get rid of them.”

“What?” Yuuri asked.

“The love locks. I haven’t been back in a few years. I’d heard they removed all of them, banned them. It’s just so strange, coming back and seeing how much a place has changed, how much you’ve changed.” They stood on the middle of the bridge watching the sun break over the horizon.

“You hungry?” Victor asked.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “Starving.”

“Come on,” he said. “I know the perfect place.”

 

* * *

 

C: Hey, I just got home

C: Where are you?

V: Oh sorry, I forgot to tell you

V: Yuuri asked me to go on tour with him

V: I’m in Paris actually

C: Tell me you’re joking

V: Nope! I’ll have some cheese and wine in your honor ;)

V: Gotta go, Yuuri needs me

C: Victor no…

C: Victor?

C: …

C: Victor? Oh my god.

 

* * *

 

They landed in Heathrow a day before the international premiere of _Frozen Dawn_. Phichit met them at their hotel and after Minako arrived from LA, they all went out for dinner. After, Phichit’s dancer friends joined them for drinks. Georgi and Mila took to the floor after a few shots, Leo and Guang-Hong joined them not long after. They ran into Sara, the publicist assigned to Yuuri, as they were leaving the bar and dragged her along to Phichit’s new place to say hi to the hamsters and once there, Phichit and Leo pushed all the furniture aside to clear a dance floor, dragging Yuuri onto it with them.

“I don’t know if we should be here,” Sara told Victor. She looked stiff and uncomfortable in her pumps and pencil skirt. “We have an early morning thing.”

“We always have a thing,” Victor said, swaying to the music, drink in hand.

“True but—” By the end of the night, Sara was on Mila’s lap, heels off, no longer looking stiff and uncomfortable.

In that whole time, Victor was never left alone with Minako but he couldn’t help but feel her watching him, watching _them_. She never spoke of it again but Victor could still hear her earlier words: “You like him, but you’re not going to do anything about it, are you? Neither is he, you know.”

He tried to push the thought away, focus on what was in front of him—a tipsy Yuuri dancing barefoot in the middle of the living room. He was beautiful, he shined with the light of a hundred suns and Victor was caught in his orbit.

“Victor!” he called, hand outstretched. “Come dance with me.”

He finished his drink and let himself be pulled in, but he couldn’t shake Minako’s words.

As they stumbled into a cab back to the hotel, laughing and swaying, Victor couldn’t think of a reason to hold back anymore. After they said goodnight to Minako in the hotel lobby, Victor laced their hands together, watched Yuuri’s eyes widen at the touch.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

Yuuri followed him out wordlessly. The night was young, the streets still noisy with cars and tourists. They strolled through St. James’s Park and ended up on Westminster Bridge, surrounded by Big Ben, the London Eye, a cacophony of light and sound. Victor held onto Yuuri the entire time, not letting go of his hand. They looked out onto the Thames, coats wrapped tight around them to fend off the stinging winds.

Yuuri was still a little tipsy but he had sobered up significantly on their walk, the cold air snapping both of them awake. Victor touched his free hand to Yuuri’s face, gently brushing aside a stray strand of hair.

“I like you,” Victor said simply.

Yuuri’s eyes lit up, a hopeful smile appearing.

“I like you too,” he said, his eyes suddenly shy behind long lashes.

Victor was still staring, lost in his eyes, when Yuuri leaned in, cupped his face gently, touched his lips to Victor’s.

 

* * *

 

Sara wasn’t lying when she said they had something scheduled early in the morning on the day of the premiere. They were both in Yuuri’s room when she knocked on the door.

“Come on, Yuuri, we have to go,” she called from the hall.

“Five more minutes,” Yuuri mumbled into Victor’s shoulders.

Victor didn’t want to wake him just yet. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, Victor gently extricated himself. “Go back to sleep, solnyshko. I’ll see what Sara wants.”

Sara, for her part, looked just as disheveled as Victor, her hair still damp, her face free of make up, her heels in her hands.

“Good morning,” Victor said.

“Is it?” she said, rubbing her head with her free hand. If she was surprised to find Victor in Yuuri’s room, she didn’t say. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes.”

Victor checked the time. “It’s five thirty. You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” she said. “Meet me down in the lobby in fifteen.”

“Twenty,” Victor said, negotiating.

“Fine, twenty.”

“Did you have a good night?” Victor asked, feigning polite interest.

“Shut up,” she said, walking away. “You have twenty minutes!”

Back inside, Yuuri had sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes.

“Was that Sara?” he asked, his hair adorably mussed.

“It was.” Victor picked his coat up from a nearby chair. “She gave us twenty minutes.” He kissed Yuuri goodbye, lingering by the bed. Reluctantly, he pulled away. “I’ll see you downstairs?”

Yuuri nodded, then pulled him back by the lapel of his coat for another lazy kiss.

Back in his own room, Victor stood in the shower under the pounding hot water and replayed the night before. Touching a finger to his lips, he remembered every kiss, every brush of skin against skin. It’d been late, and they were both a little tipsy. They hadn’t gone any further than falling asleep in each other’s arms while exchanging soft kisses. It hadn’t been enough and Victor closed his eyes in frustration now, remembering the weight of Yuuri’s body over his, the need for more contact.

By Victor’s estimation he had maybe ten minutes before he was due downstairs. He was going to be late.

Oh, well.

 

* * *

 

Sara called the radio station on their way there, apologizing profusely for being late. They traveled in two cars, Yuuri, Victor, Sara in one, Minako and the director in the other. Phichit was meeting them there, having cleared his whole day for the premiere. Victor stole glances at Yuuri on the drive. He was being quiet and a little distant, pulling away when Victor’s hand approached his. But his eyes were warm, seemed to light up whenever he looked at Victor. When they arrived, Yuuri lingered in the backseat, waiting for Sara to leave. Before he got out, he left a quick kiss on Victor’s cheek.

Victor wrapped his scarf around him tight, hoping to cover his flushed cheeks. The message was clear: Yuuri wasn’t ready to go public just yet.

“Are you both just cold or did something happen?” Phichit asked when they went inside, his eyes traveling between them. Victor blushed harder. Yuuri coughed, ignoring his friend.

Minako, Yuuri, and the director did the interview behind soundproofed glass with Sara watching over them. Phichit and Victor remained outside watching them.

God, Yuuri was unfairly beautiful, Victor thought as he watched them in the recording booth.

“So,” Phichit said, interrupting his thoughts. “How’s it going so far?”

Victor ignored his sly smile and just shrugged.

Phichit just laughed. “I knew it. By the way, as matchmaker, I better be someone’s best man because I deserve a speech. Maybe a few speeches.”

“What are you talking about?” Victor asked, confused. “Matchmaker?”

“Oh Yuuri didn’t tell you?” Phichit said, looking amused. “I was the one who texted you from his phone.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, Yuuri _wanted_ to talk to you again but he was convinced you hated him or something. Which you obviously don’t. Anyway, glad it all worked out.”

Victor didn’t know what to think. Had Yuuri even wanted to see him again, or was he just following through on what Phichit had done? Yuuri had responded almost immediately when Victor texted him back. Had that been Phichit too? Was that lunch supposed to be a date or a job interview? He was still lost in thought when they finished and left the recording booth.

“How many more of these do we have?” Minako asked Sara as they rode down the elevator to their cars.

“Just three more,” she confirmed. “And then we’ll need to rush back to the hotel and get ready.”

“What’d they want to talk about?” Phichit asked Yuuri.

“The same old stuff. What our working process was when Minako adapted the book, how involved I was during filming.” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I don’t even feel like I’m answering questions about myself anymore. It feels like I’m talking about someone else.”

“It’s almost over,” Minako said, squeezing his shoulder.

As they stepped out of the building, Yuuri pulled Victor back. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Victor said. “I guess I’m just tired?”

“Sorry, my fault,” Yuuri said but he didn’t sound very apologetic. With everyone ahead of them, Yuuri snuck another kiss and shot Victor a bright smile before heading to their car.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day blurred into one long montage of promotional activity. More interviews, a photoshoot, a special lunch with hardcore fans arranged by the studio. Then they went back to the hotel to get dressed for the premiere.

Victor stayed with Phichit for most of it, grateful for the company. He watched Yuuri work the crowd on the red carpet, sign posters and books, bounce from reporter to reporter. He looked so handsome in his tux, Victor couldn’t help but stare.

“How does he do it?” Victor asked Phichit.

“Do what?”

“Normally, he’s so…” Victor trailed off.

“Shy? Anxious?” Phichit finished for him.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s almost like a persona he puts on whenever he has to do this stuff. When he’s out there, he shuts everything and everyone out. It’s like a performance. He can’t always do it, but you’re right, it’s like seeing this other side of him.”

After two hours on the red carpet, they finally made it inside. Yuuri led them to the third row in the theater. Cordoned off with red rope, there were name cards pinned to the seats. Sitting next to Yuuri, Victor took a deep breath when the room finally dimmed and the music began to play. This was it. The last piece of the story. After this, there would be nothing left, no new book, no movie.

He watched the final part of Kaito and Ivan’s story unfold. Their easy domesticity at the beginning, their forced separation, and finally their reunion before the climatic battle. It occurred to him that Yuuri must’ve already seen the film. He felt Yuuri tense beside him, but Victor was too absorbed in the movie to pay close attention.

Then came the part he’d been dreading—Kaito’s death. He reached for Yuuri’s hand and Yuuri let him take it, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Victor braced himself, recognizing the lines of dialogue directly preceding the tragic scene.

But then…

It didn’t happen.

A collective gasp swept the theater.

Kaito hadn’t died, hadn’t even been wounded. What was happening? Victor’s mind raced as he leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen. When the final frame flickered across the screen and the credits began to roll, he just sat there, speechless.

“Victor?” Yuuri said, calling him back to reality. “You’re gripping my hand too tight.”

Victor released him immediately. “I—” He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t have any words. He acted on impulse, pulling Yuuri in for a kiss. He didn’t notice when the lights filled the room or when the entire theater began to clap wildly. He only wanted to surprise Yuuri as much as Yuuri had surprised him.

When he pulled back, Yuuri was smiling at him, looking at him like he was the only person in the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the kudos and comments. Seriously, you guys are so wonderful--I'm incredibly grateful <3
> 
> Quick notes:  
> We will see Yuri again, though maybe not for a while. His silver at senior nationals and being sent to junior worlds is based on what Alina Zagitova did last year. She got silver at nationals but I think she was too young for ISU competitions so the RSF sent her to junior worlds. 
> 
> I hope I managed to surprise some of you with the movie ending? I've been excited to get to that part since the beginning. Up next: More press tour + tipsy Yuuri + the fallout to the new ending to the story in the movie. 
> 
> I love you guys, thank you so much for reading!


	6. All of the things we're taking—’cause we are young and we're ashamed—send us to perfect places

From: Lilia Baranovskaya

To: Victor Nikiforov

Subject: (no subject)

Date sent: 1/28

 

So you’ve spoken to your father on the phone but you won’t talk to your mother? Vitya, please. This has gone on long enough. Give your mother a call. She says she called you on your birthday but you never answered or returned her call. She worries about you. We all do.

* * *

 

From: Victor Nikiforov

To: Lilia Baranovskaya

Subject: Re: no subject

Date sent: 1/29

 

I’ve been busy. I’ll give her a call soon. And I always respond when she texts.

* * *

 

From: Lilia Baranovskaya

To Victor Nikiforov

Subject: Re: no subject

Date sent: 1/29

 

Did something happened when you were here last? Your mother won’t talk about it with me, but this is very unlike you. You used to never miss your weekly call with her but now you go months without speaking.

* * *

 

From: Victor Nikiforov

To: Lilia Baranovskaya

Subject: Re: no subject

Date sent: 1/30

 

I said I’ll call her soon, and I will.

* * *

 

C: Victor, I know you’re getting these texts

C: I can see they’re delivered

C: Look I’m not going to yell or anything okay?

C: Just call me back

C: I mean, don’t you want to hear all about my adventures with Daniel in St. Lucia?

C: I got the worst sunburn and you’ll never guess where

* * *

 

Industry insiders had predicted _Frozen Dawn_ would flop, had puzzled over the studio’s mammoth marketing budget. “They’re really gunning for bankruptcy,” joked one morning show personality. Pre-sale tickets had been significantly down compared to the first two movies. Critics were lining up to write scathing reviews, particularly after the studio refused to host early viewings for the media. Consensus was that the movie was so horrible the studio would rather have _no_ reviews before the premiere than the sure-to-be devastating reviews. Not all publicity was good publicity. The online chatter was largely disparaging from both fans and the greater public alike.

But after word of the new ending spread, Fandango and other online ticketing sites briefly crashed from the surge in traffic. Opening weekend sold out _everywhere_ less than twenty four hours from the London premiere. The Wednesday ahead of the LA premiere, there were reports of scalpers standing outside movie theaters across the US with fans claiming tickets were going for thirty, fifty bucks, up to a hundred dollars for the more densely populated metropolitan areas.

“It’s insane,” Yuuri said, holed up in their hotel room. They’d arrived early in the morning, hoping to avoid the press only to walk out of LAX to a storm of blinding camera flashes. The producers were almost _gleeful_ at the sudden reversal. In interviews, they pretended to be surprised by the public reaction, but their humility was unconvincing.

Victor watched all of it unfold with growing horror. The way the paparazzi chased after the director and lead actors, the way they hounded Yuuri and Minako, who were now doing press junkets side by side, repeating the same answers again and again, how it’d been Yuuri’s idea to change the ending. How Yuuri outlined thechanges beat by beat, how Minako followed it closely.

It wasn’t just the press junkets and paparazzi. Suddenly, a fandom that was on the cusp of extinction roared to life. Even without checking tumblr, twitter, or reddit, Victor could see it in the flood of emails Yuuri got in his general inbox.

* * *

 

From: [xiceprincessx@gmail.com](mailto:xiceprincessx@gmail.com)

To: Yuuri Katsuki

Subject: you fucking sellout

Date sent: 1/30

 

I thought you could be trusted you POS. Unlike most so-called fans I actually liked the way you ended the series. And when everyone had finally, FINALLY started to accept the ending, you go ahead and do this. I’m disgusted. I waited in line for hours for you to sign my books and they’re all going into the trash.

* * *

 

From: [actualkaito@gmail.com](mailto:actualkaito@gmail.com)

To: Yuuri Katsuki

Subject: wtf

Date sent: 1/30

 

I know you probably never check this email, especially not now, but wtf dude? So what’s the real ending? This new one? Is Kaito alive, or is he dead? It’s just confusing. My friends and I can’t agree, and you won’t talk about it in interviews. What’s official? What’s canon? I know you don’t give a shit about the series anymore, but we still do. You owe us an answer. #saveschrodingerskaito2k17

* * *

 

Victor had to clear the inbox almost every five minutes for fear of Yuuri stumbling upon them, though occasionally, there was the rare positive email.

* * *

 

From: [keyboardandkaja@gmail.com](mailto:keyboardandkaja@gmail.com)

To: Yuuri Katsuki

Subject: (no subject)

Date sent: 1/30

 

My skin is clear, my crops are flourishing, my thesis has defended itself, I HAVE ASCENDED. Thank you, sir.

* * *

 

But for every email like that, there were a hundred vicious ones. Victor sent them all straight to trash without a second thought. The truth was, if he weren’t kissing Yuuri and sleeping in the same bed as Yuuri every night, Victor didn’t know what he’d think. Part of him, the part that was a reader first and foremost, was thrilled that the happy ending he’d always wanted for his heroes had become reality. The fic writer in him was significantly less thrilled. He thought he’d made peace with the past, but this changed everything. The ending was the entire reason Victor had written the infamous one-shot in the first place. The ending was the reason Yuuri attacked him online. And the reason Victor left the fandom, exiled himself from the one thing that had given him any measure of happiness in a long time, a happiness he was, in some ways, still chasing even now.

Yet he wasn’t Victor the fic writer anymore. He was Victor, Yuuri Katsuki’s assistant, though he wasn’t really much of an assistant either these days, if he ever was one to begin with. He was Victor, Yuuri Katsuki’s maybe-boyfriend who wanted to shield Yuuri from all the vitriol, who wanted to hold him tight and never let go, who wanted only for him to be happy.

Victor didn’t know how to process any of it. It was as if Yuuri had waved a magic wand and rewritten history. Only, Victor was still living in it. The ending that had caused so much grief was suddenly just gone. What was all that pain for, then?

Worst of all, Yuuri was pulling away.

Again.

He didn’t want Victor around at the press junkets anymore. He didn’t want to go for nighttime strolls with him, he didn’t want to leave the hotel, always ordering room service for the both of them.

The night of the London premiere, they had walked out after the showing, ducking all the reporters clamoring for a comment from Yuuri. They had gotten into a black car and been whisked away to a party where they drank too much champagne and danced with abandon. And at the end of the night, they walked out into the freezing early-morning air, giddy and dizzy with joy. Sara put them into another black car and before she sent them back to the hotel, Phichit ran out to wave goodbye, shooting Victor a knowing wink.

Once the elevator reached their floor back at the hotel, Yuuri grabbed Victor’s tie and yanked him in for a kiss, led him by the tie to his room, where they collapsed in bed, a tangle of arms and legs and desperate lips. They were tipsy and uncoordinated, kissing and fumbling with each other’s belts.

“I _hate_ buttons. _They are evil_ ,” Yuuri said and Victor laughed while struggling to help Yuuri take off his shirt. But soon enough, they removed all of their clothes, and there was nothing between them, nothing to hold them back. Yuuri was so, so beautiful, Victor thought, sinking into the warmth of Yuuri’s eyes which were, in turn, looking up at him with wonder. With so little time or preparation, neither of them had a condom or lube, and they had to make do with clumsy handjobs. Still, it was the best sex Victor had ever had.

The following morning, nothing had seemed immediately off. Yuuri smiled when Victor kissed him good morning. He’d thought nothing of it when Yuuri suggested room service, happy to spend a lazy morning together before their flight to LA. Then Victor returned to his room to shower and pack. He met them all downstairs in the lobby, and as one of the first ones there, he caught a very sleepy but happy Sara kissing Mila goodbye. Victor waved when they spotted him and Sara flipped her shades down, ignoring him on her way back upstairs, presumably to shower and pack as well. Phichit saw them off, went to the airport with them, and in the rush of the morning, Victor hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in Yuuri’s demeanor. They didn’t hold hands or touch, but they were also avoiding the swarm of paparazzi, trying to check their luggage and get through security. It wasn’t until they were at the gate that Victor first noticed the shift.

Sara, who had been assigned the seat next to Yuuri, came up to them before boarding. “I’m guessing you’ll want to switch with me?” she asked Victor but before he could answer, Yuuri cut in: “No, that won’t be necessary.” Both Sara and Victor looked at him in surprise but Yuuri didn’t say anything more, eyes pointedly avoiding them.

Victor ran through the events of the night before and the morning after and came up empty. If Yuuri had been mad about what they did the night before, if he felt Victor had taken advantage of him in any way, he certainly hadn’t acted like it in the morning. They kissed lazily in bed until their breakfast came, and when Victor got up to leave, Yuuri had pulled him back for a kiss, his hand in Victor’s hair, his touch warm against Victor’s neck.

He shrugged off the airport incident once they were checked into their LA hotel. When they reached Victor’s floor, Yuuri placed a light hand on Victor’s elbow, holding him back, shy smile on his face. They went up to Yuuri’s room together and Victor promptly lost the envelope that held the keycard to his own room.

That was two days ago. Since then, Yuuri did another round of interviews, signed more books at local bookstores, and went with the cast to do meet-and-greets with fans. Since then, Yuuri went to everything without Victor, insisted he stay at the hotel or go sightseeing without him. Victor felt like a caged bird, or worse, a dirty little secret.

“Is something wrong?” Victor asked the night before the LA premiere.

“What?” Yuuri said, looking puzzled. “No, why?”

An irrational thought pushed its way up. Yuuri knew. _He knew who Victor was_. But that was impossible. Unless—

“Victor?” Yuuri sounded confused.

He shouldn’t have kissed Yuuri in the theater, he shouldn’t have kissed Yuuri in front of so many people—worse, in front of so many cameras. There were only a handful of people within the fandom who knew what iceprince-v looked like, but what if one of them saw a picture from the London premiere? Victor had intentionally stayed away from the fandom, actively avoided any _Ice Prince_ social media even now. That meant he didn’t know what was going on. That left him vulnerable.

Then he shook his head, almost laughed at himself. How conceited, to imagine that a handful of people who saw him once or twice on Skype from _over five years ago_ would remember him. They probably weren’t even in the fandom anymore. The only person who might actually remember him was Kenjirou, his fandom husband known by the handle kaivanismyotp. They had collaborated on a Doctor Who AU and had a few projects in the pipeline before Victor unilaterally made the decision to drop off the face of the earth after The Incident.

“Victor?” Yuuri looked worried, surprisingly worried.

“Never mind,” Victor said, shaking his head again.

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asked hesitantly.

“I’m sure.” 

They ordered room service and shared a bottle of wine. They kissed in the shower, Yuuri pushing him against the steamed-up glass, his hands around Victor’s neck and in his hair.

After, they lay in bed, Yuuri’s arms wrapped around him, lips pressing softly against the nape of his neck, his breath tickling Victor’s skin.

But long after Yuuri fell asleep, Victor remained wide awake. There _had_ to be an explanation for Yuuri’s behavior. When they were on the European leg of the press tour, Yuuri had avoided him completely. Now at least they were together in private. Victor knew Yuuri had wanted to hold off on going public but after the kiss at the London premiere—not to mention the champagne and dancing at the afterparty—the cat was out of the bag.

“Let’s go down for breakfast,” Victor suggested the next morning.

Yuuri was not a morning person. He groaned and rolled over, reaching unsuccessfully for his glasses. “Don’t you want to stay in a little longer?”

“No,” Victor said, wincing at the hard edge in his own voice. Yuuri paused, turned to squint at Victor.

“Victor?” Yuuri asked, slipping his glasses on.

“Forget it,” he said, picking up the room service menu. He felt defeated and, worse, completely alone. “Scrambled eggs, toast and jam, a side of fruit?” he asked, repeating Yuuri’s usual order.

“Wait.” Yuuri came over, kneeled beside him in bed, touching his shoulder. “You’re angry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” Yuuri tensed, his hand dropping like a heavy stone.

The silence between them seemed to stretch on forever.

“You never want me to go with you to any of the interviews or events. You won’t eat anywhere outside of this room with me. You won’t even go on a walk with me at night,” Victor said, trying to keep his voice even. “Are you—” It was what Victor had asked Chris the night he met Daniel for the first time: _Are you ashamed of me?_ “Look, if you don’t want to do this, just tell me,” Victor said instead.

“Have you been online recently?” Yuuri asked, voice quiet.

Victor’s eyes grew wide.

“I usually avoid all of that, but Phichit’s been sending me a few things. At first it was just pictures of us at the London premiere and the afterparty. But then the press started going through and digging up pictures of you from the entire European press tour. There’s a compilation on BuzzFeed. Phichit just thinks it’s cute, but I—I don’t know.” Yuuri refused to meet Victor’s eyes.

Finally, Victor turned away, stared blankly at the wall, his heart sinking.

“I’d wanted to keep this, whatever this is, private longer,” Yuuri said, gesturing between them. “But—it’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Do you regret it?” Victor asked. “The kiss?”

“No, it’s not that,” Yuuri said, frustrated.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s a lot, and you don’t know what you’re getting into. You don’t understand. You don’t know what you want and I just—”

“What are you talking about? I know what I want.” _I want to stay by your side_ , he thought. _I want to kiss you and laugh with you and wake up next to you every morning._

Yuuri shook his head sadly. “No, you think you know what you want but you don’t.”

“What are you talking about?” Victor said. “I’m not a child.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Forget it. Look, I have to go,” Yuuri said, getting up.

Victor sat there in shock as Yuuri moved around him, taking a shower, getting dressed, checking his phone.

“Victor?” Yuuri said, standing by the door. “I—”

He shouldn’t have brought any of this up. This was it, this was the moment Yuuri told him that he wanted to have nothing to do with Victor anymore. That this had been fun but Yuuri was busy and didn’t have time to deal with a clingy boyfriend.

Was that what Victor was, a boyfriend?

He should’ve stayed quiet, should’ve just been the person Yuuri wanted him to be, been whatever Yuuri needed him to be. It wasn’t so bad, breakfasts and dinners in their suite. Yuuri’s face always lit up when he saw Victor there, waiting for him. And now he’d put Victor on a plane back to New York City alone, shut out of Yuuri’s life forever.

“I’ve gotta go, I’m sorry,” Yuuri said, and the door clicked quietly behind him.

Victor didn’t know how long he sat there, unable to move. He finally came to when housekeeping knocked on the door. He apologized, asked them to come back in an hour.

Then he raided the minibar, drank two tiny bottles of whiskey and threw the rest into his luggage along with all of his things. He ran around the room in a frenzy, looking for the envelope with the keycards to his hotel room. He finally gave up, zipped up his suitcase and left.

It was almost ten, which meant the entire team was likely gone, dispatched to various press junkets and daytime talk shows to promote the movie. The lobby was busy but thankfully, Victor didn’t see anyone he recognized. He got new keys for his room and once he was finally, finally alone again, he collapsed onto his bed and cried until he fell asleep.

* * *

 

When Victor woke, it was late in the afternoon, the light outside growing dim. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. His clothes were scattered around the room—his coat on the floor, his pants thrown over a lamp. Checking his phone, he saw a few more texts from Chris and a new email, this time from his grand-uncle, Yakov.

Nothing from Yuuri.

The first thing he did after opening his suitcase was down every last little bottle of liquor he’d pilfered from Yuuri’s minibar. Then, after he accomplished that, he pulled out his laptop and went on social media. He stalked all of official pages for the movie, stared at pictures of Yuuri and Minako walking the red carpet.

Yuuri must’ve gone back to the hotel to change. Victor glanced at his phone again, still nothing. So this really was it, then. Yuuri had gone back to his room to find Victor and his things gone and didn’t even bother to text him.

They’d only been together for less than a week, he reminded himself. _Pull it together, it’s not a big deal_ , he thought. But deep down, he knew he’d been in love with Yuuri Katsuki long before then, long before he began working for him.

Anger cut through him, quick and sharp. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Victor had thought they were both different people. He thought Yuuri had changed, he thought he himself had changed. But maybe not. Maybe he’d only been fooling himself.

When he was done going through all the official pages, the actors’ personal twitter and instagram pages, he raided his own minibar, took a deep breath, and dived down the rabbit hole of the _Ice Prince_ fandom. One tag led to another, one handle led to five more.

 

@kyuun_chan: I’m outside the theater in LA and #YuuriKatsuki just walked by me and I am deceased #frozendawnLApremiere #frozendawn #iceprince #icantbelievethisistheend

@fujoshikoi: Guys. My friends and I have been camped out here since six this morning and the line is insane #frozendawn #ithoughttheticketsweresoldout

@domokunrainbowkinz: Guess who got last minute tix to #frozendawn tonight? #mybodyisready

@sleep-furiously: We saw it a few days ago and the ending is epic #frozendawn #savekaito #youshouldmovetopoland

@actualivanhoe: Friendly reminder to please tag spoilers if you want to talk about the ending. Please. #frozendawn

@heartlezz: you must live under a rock if you don’t already know about the new ending #frozendawn #frozendawnspoilers #SPOILERitsnotaspoiler

@exile_wrath: I don’t understand why #frozendawn has two separate premieres

@voxofthevoid: the first #iceprince movie had separate premieres but the second just had one international premiere #frozendawn

@woodentrain: It’s the new ending. They wanted to create buzz. Everyone I know was meh before the London premiere and now you can’t get tickets anywhere in the US #frozendawn

@nihonlove: omg #frozendawn is trending at no. 1, guys!

@sleepyfortress: Midnight could not come sooner but I don’t want it to end #iceprince #frozendawn

@omgkatsudonplease: It’s the end of an era #iceprince #frozendawn #kaivanforever

 

None of the names were familiar and Victor flopped back, feeling old. A whole new generation of fans had risen through the ranks as others like him left the fandom.

Then Victor stumbled upon this:

@skowronek: Anyone seen the cam footage from London? Link me pls? #Kaitolives #iceprince #frozendawn

@dawnonice: @skowronek of the ending? I’m avoiding it. I’d rather see it in person

@skowronek: @dawnonice I can’t wait a whole week, I’m going to die 

@shslshortie: @skowronek @dawnonice I’ve seen it in person. It’s worth it.

@skowronek: @shslshortie …I just need to know if it’s anything like Kings of Winter 

@shslshortie: @skowronek no, just no.

@96percentdone: @skowronek @shslshortie it’s not, but are you really that surprised? The whole world knows Katsuki’s read KoW. If he copied the ending to that fic, he’d be asking for a lawsuit

@squidhop: @skowronek @96percentdone @shslshortie lawsuit? Doubt it. And didn’t the writer of KoW die or something?

@96percentdone: @skowronek @squidhop @shslshortie no, iceprince-v didn’t die, they just erased all their shit from [FF.net](http://FF.net) but you can still find it on AO3, all under the same titles, different username tho

 

Victor snapped up. _What?_ He reread the thread, head spinning. A quick search yielded what he was looking for. Under the username iceprince-vi, someone had reposted every last one of his works. He clicked on the profile. “This is an archive run by kaivanismyotp in case iceprince-v decides to return.”

Kenjirou.

 _What the actual fuck?_ Victor went back through the list of works. They’d all been uploaded within a week of when he left the fandom five years ago. He went to Kenjirou’s own profile. He wasn’t active anymore—the last thing he’d posted was over two years ago.

Downing another tiny bottle—gin this time—Victor logged back onto the email he once used for fandom purposes. He guessed the password wrong five times before he finally got back in to see a message from Kenjirou, sent recently. He must’ve seen a picture of Victor at the London premiere and reached out.

He hovered over it, hesitating. What was the point?It was over now, whatever he’d had with Yuuri. Victor left it all behind him once and he could do it again. He logged out without opening the message.

He’d go back to New York, work for another temp agency. Or maybe he’d get that job his dad wanted for him, whatever it was. Quitting finance and throwing everything away had been part rebellion, part quarter-life crisis. For the last six months, he’d run around the city working long hours for little pay. If he was going to work long hours, he might as well get paid well. One job wasn’t really that different from another. It was all just him selling his time, and maybe his father had been right all along. If you’re going to sell yourself, might as well sell yourself to the highest bidder.

Victor glanced at his laptop, thought about the new work he’d begun midnight Christmas day after he’d gotten back from Yuuri’s apartment. It was the first thing he’d been excited about in a long time, something he was going to write only for himself, the last thing he’d ever write for _Ice Prince_ , a writer au about novelist Kaito and fanfiction writer Ivan. He had no plans to post it, to let anyone read it. It was him saying goodbye in a way. Processing the last ten years of his life and letting go. Victor found it on his laptop now and dragged it to the trash can without opening it.

After checking his phone one last time, Victor squeezed his eyes shut. He reached for another tiny bottle of liquor to find none left.

“Well, fuck.” He stood still, leaning against a wall as the empty room spun around him. It was past midnight. The movie was over and Yuuri still hadn’t bothered to call or text. “Fuck it.” He threw on some clothes, and after pocketing his phone and keycard, he left.

It wasn’t Siberia but LA could still be cold in the winter. The palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze and he hunched his shoulders, keeping his head down as he began to walk. He didn’t know where he was going, just went whichever way the pedestrian signal let him.

Victor only stopped when he was well and truly lost. It was almost one in the morning. As he was trying to figure out how to get back to the hotel, his phone lit up with a call from his mother. He sighed.

“Hi, mama,” he said.

“Did I call at a bad time?” The anxiousness in her voice crushed him.

“No, it’s not a bad time,” he said. “What’s going on?”

She hesitated and he could hear her soft breathing through the line.

“Nothing, I just worry about you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, I’m okay,” Victor said, his guilt growing. They had fought before he left last summer. She had backed up his father, told Victor to go back to his job. Even after everything, she had sided with Nicolai. It made him furious. He implied, in an underhanded way, that his father had bribed her to take his side, that he was paying her off somehow. They exchanged ugly words.

“I’m here _for you_ , mama,” he had told her. “You need someone to take care of you.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” she said. “I don’t need you to tell me what I need and what I don’t need.”

They awkwardly patched things up before Victor left but things hadn’t been the same since. Victor knew it was unfair, but he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. It had always been him and her against his father. Him and her and Makkachin against the world, at least until then.

“Are you eating?” his mother asked.

Victor scoffed softly. “You always ask me that. Yes, I’m eating.”

“Good.”

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m alright. Makka is taking good care of me,” she said. “Aren’t you, girl?” Makkachin yipped through the phone.

The homesickness slammed into him like a tsunami, he could picture the two of them together in her apartment snuggling in the living room without him.

“We get up early, go for a nice long walk. Then I go to a rehab center for a couple hours.” After she had been discharged, they had put her on an outpatient schedule with regular check-ins and drug testing to help her stay clean. “Lilia and Yakov usually come over for dinner. It’s been good. I’m okay.”

“That’s…good,” he said, unsure of what else to say.

“I called last month, for your birthday,” she said quietly. “I don’t know, maybe the call didn’t go through? You know how it is with international calls.” She was giving him an out, he realized. Blaming a bad signal and not him—it was an olive branch of sorts.

“Yes, I don’t always get your calls,” he said, as if she hadn’t tried him many times, hadn’t left a handful of voicemails. “I’m sorry.”

Even though he couldn’t see her, Victor swore he could feel the tension melt away between them.

“That’s okay, that’s what I figured,” she said. “Anyway, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Did you have a good birthday?”

Victor closed his eyes at the memory of him and Yuuri standing in the kitchen, Yuuri tipsy from champagne, uneven on his feet, telling Victor he liked spending time with him.

“I did,” he finally said.

“Good. I’m glad.”

A soft silence fell between them. Victor stared up at the black sky, shivered in the cold.

“Mama, I’m sorry,” he said.

“What for?” she asked gently.

“I messed up,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m always messing up.”

“No, _solnyshko_ ,” she said. “You are not always messing up. Maybe it feels like that sometimes but that doesn’t mean it’s true. Whatever you did, you didn’t mess up. You are such a gentle soul, Vitya. Whatever it is you did, you didn’t do on purpose. You don’t have a mean bone in your body.”

The tears fell, one after the other.

“Listen to me, if someone is telling you that you messed up, you tell them to call Yulia Nikiforova, okay? I’ll set them straight.” It was an old joke between them, from his boarding school days when his mother could only offer comfort from afar after a bad day.

Victor laughed weakly. “Oh, mama, stop it.”

“Never.” He could hear her smile through all the ones and zeroes, through the thousands of miles between them.

“I have to go,” he said. “It’s getting late here.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll let you go then. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, lingering on the line for a moment before ending the call. It took him thirty minutes to get back to the hotel. He walked with focus, sobered up from the talk with his mother and the cold air. Palm trees greeted him as he rounded each corner, waving softly against the night.

It was going to be okay, he thought. _He_ was going to be okay. He’d been on his own practically his whole life. He didn’t need anyone, didn’t need Yuuri.

His conviction strengthening, he entered the hotel and went up to his floor. He wasn’t going to wait around for Yuuri. He’d pack his things and catch the first flight back to New York, figure things out from there.

Distracted with searching for his keycard, Victor didn’t see him until he was right in front of his door: Yuuri Katsuki, sitting on the floor, tie hanging loosely around his neck, his shirt half open.

“Yuuri?” he said.

“Victor?”

* * *

 

They were both wasted. This was a terrible idea, but Victor found himself unlocking the door, wordlessly inviting Yuuri inside.

“You too, huh,” Yuuri said, his eyes on the trashcan full of empty liquor bottles.

“Yeah.” He shrugged off his coat, let it fall the ground. Slipped off his shoes and kicked them aside. He plopped down on a chair, offering Yuuri the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said, sitting on the floor instead, drawing his knees in and tucking his chin between them. “You were right. I _didn’t_ want to be seen in public with you, but it’s not because I don’t want to be seen with you in public.”

“What?”

Yuuri shook his head. “This isn’t coming out right.” He hiccuped. “I just mean, it’s a lot. I get asked about you almost everywhere I go. _Who’s the mystery man? Is he the reason you decided to change the ending?_ It’s never-ending. If we went anywhere together, it’d be worse. I’m used to it but you’re not. You don’t know what it’s like, being put under a microscope, being asked intrusive questions,” Yuuri said, his words a little slurred.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Victor said quietly. “If it meant being by your side.”

“You say that now, but once you have to actually deal with it—” Yuuri broke off, growing agitated.

“I’m not your ex,” Victor said. “I’m not going to run away at the first sign of trouble.”

“I just wanted something for myself,” he said. “I just wanted you for myself. You’re the first person in forever who doesn’t look at me and see Yuuri Katsuki, Famous Author and Guy Who Fucked Up The Ice Prince Books. You look at me like I’m not a total failure, like I’m someone you could love, and when I’m with you, it gets a little easier to believe that’s true. When I’m around you, it’s easier to believe that I could be the person you see in me.”

Victor joined him on the ground, their knees touching.

“Until recently, I thought I was fighting all by myself. Then, you came into my life, and I don’t feel that way anymore.” Yuuri’s voice was rising, his hands gesturing passionately.

The way Yuuri looked at him snatched the air from Victor’s lungs and shattered his heart. He’d spent the day thinking the worst of Yuuri. _You’d feel differently if you knew the truth_ , Victor thought. _The truth about everything_. He didn’t deserve Yuuri’s trust, he didn’t deserve the way Yuuri looked at him, with such deep affection.

“Yuuri—” Victor began but was cut off.

“Some things have changed. Some are still the same. But now, everything feels so new,” Yuuri continued. “For the first time I can remember, I can clearly see what’s in front of me.” Yuuri leaned in close, nose brushing Victor’s. Eyes fluttering closed, he touched his lips to Victor’s.

Victor pulled away.

“Yuuri, I need to tell you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger? o.o;;
> 
> I struggled a lot with this chapter and I can't even articulate why. Your kudos and comments sustained me though, so thank you <3
> 
> Also, big thanks to [Skowronek](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Skowronek/pseuds/Skowronek) for sending me puppy gifs for every 500 words I wrote. I don’t think this chapter would be done without her.
> 
> Quick note: Social media will show up again, though maybe not in the next chapter. Let me know here or on [tumblr](eternalsunshine13.tumblr.com) if you'd like to see your handle and I will try my best to make it happen :) 
> 
> Next up: Victor and Yuuri try communicating.
> 
> I love you guys, thank you so much for reading!


	7. Played it so nonchalant (it's time we danced with the truth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A regular update schedule? I don't know her.

Victor still had the screenshots. Before he burned iceprince-v to the ground, he’d saved the Tumblr messages Yuuri wrote him all those years ago.

 

_Today at 10:06 AM_

 

**katsukiyuuri**

I don’t know if you’ve seen the letter I posted earlier but I’m asking you to take down Kings of Winter, or whatever it’s called. In fact, I’d like you to take all of your Ice Prince fanfiction down immediately. Consider this a cease-and-desist.

 

_Today at 11:57 AM_

 

**katsukiyuuri**

You can keep ignoring my messages but this isn’t just going to go away. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that the characters and world are protected by copyright. As the copyright holder, I can and will take legal action if you don’t take it down. I’ve been tolerant of fanfiction in the past, but that was clearly a mistake.

Everyone thinks they can write. Everyone thinks they have a book inside of them. Everyone thinks they can do a better job. But they’re all wrong. I don’t have to read your fanfiction to know your writing’s little better than horseshit.

What’s more, you fanfiction writers all feel like you’re entitled to other people’s work. None of you have spent years with these characters like I have. None of you agonized over every world like I did. But you still think just because you love something, you get to own a piece of it too.

For the last few years, I could ignore it, do my thing and let you fanfiction writers do yours. But now you’ve crossed the line.

* * *

 

Part of him knew keeping the messages from Yuuri was an act of masochism, a form of self-harm even. But he couldn’t bring himself to delete them, however awful they were. In a strange way, they were proof that the man Victor spent years idolizing was aware of his existence, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

And now, Yuuri was here with him in his hotel room, so close and so far away all at once. Victor turned to face him again, their noses inches apart, a whisper of Yuuri’s breath on his skin.

“I have to tell you something,” he repeated.

“Okay,” Yuuri said, laying his head down on Victor’s shoulder.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath, tried to pretend his glass heart wasn’t about to shatter into a million pieces. Yuuri nestled in closer, kissing his neck, and Victor wanted to cry. He knew he had to do it, but he never wanted this—whatever _this_ was between them—to end. _One more night_ , he promised himself. Neither of them were sober and while Victor knew that was yet another excuse, it was justification enough to wait until the morning. The truth was that he wanted a chance to say goodbye. He wanted one last night with Yuuri, every single second a gift and a curse. 

“Victor?” Yuuri lifted off, looking up at him. “You’re crying.”

“I am?” he said, surprised. “Sorry.” His tears fell freely, perfect droplets that clung briefly to his eyelashes before they launched off of him, hitting the fabric of his trousers, the splatter quiet but audible.

“Oh no,” Yuuri said, looking just as devastated. “I’m _such_ a jerk.”

“What?” he said, stunned.

“I made you cry,” Yuuri said, head hanging heavy, eyes staring down at his hands. “Please don’t cry. I’m not worth the tears.”

“Yuuri, what are you talking ab—”

“Wait,” Yuuri cut him off. “I can fix it. Come on, let’s go out. Right now. I’ll tell everyone we’re together, and then you won’t be sad anymore.”

Victor looked at him in complete disbelief. “No—”

“I’m so sorry, Victor,” Yuuri said, voice growing desperate. “I was an idiot. Come on, let’s go. I want the whole world to know that you’re mine.” Then he paused, eyes lowering. “That is, if you still want to be mine.”

For a moment, the air in the hotel room stilled, time suspended as Victor tried to process what Yuuri was saying. Finally, the moment broke, splitting him apart along with it.

“What are you going to do, Yuuri, call an international press conference?” Victor laughed softly, his heart aching.

“Yes. Yes! That’s a great idea! That way they’ll all know.” Yuuri tugged Victor by the collar of his shirt until they were facing each other again, a perfect mirror image of wide eyes, parted lips, bated breath.

“It’s late,” Victor said, managing a small smile.

“Tomorrow then,” Yuuri said.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, then closed his eyes and leaned forward, every kiss hurried and desperate—the last gasps of a dying man.

* * *

 

Victor woke with Yuuri beside him, their limbs tangled, bodies curled into one another, perfect puzzle pieces. Streaks of daylight entered the room announcing the arrival of morning.

Today was the day.

He remained still, barely able to breathe, his eyes on Yuuri’s sleeping form. It was one of Victor’s favorite things, watching Yuuri like this, expression delicate and unguarded, sweet even. It was one of the things he’d miss most. There was always the possibility that his worst fears wouldn’t come to pass, that Yuuri would listen to him and somehow understand why he hadn’t been honest about who he was.

When Yuuri finally stirred, he shifted closer and nuzzled Victor’s neck, placing a light kiss against his skin.

“Good morning,” Yuuri said, voice scratchy.

“Morning,” Victor said, smile soft. They didn’t move, staring at one another with sleepy eyes. Yuuri was the one to finally break the silence.

“I’m scared by how much I like you,” he whispered. “Is that silly?”

“No,” Victor breathed, counting down the seconds to detonation, to the moment he blew up his own life.

They showered and dressed, ordered and ate breakfast. Victor lifted eggs into his mouth mechanically, tasting nothing.

“You’re really quiet,” Yuuri said, frowning in worry. “Did I say something stupid last night?” He rubbed his temple.

“No,” Victor said and placed his fork beside his plate, nudging it into alignment with the knife, his fingers itching for something to do.

“I know I fucked up,” Yuuri said, voice pained. “I _know_ , but is there any way I could make it up to you? Please tell me it’s not too late, please tell me I haven’t lost you.”

The tears spilled over without warning, falling in fat droplets that hit the table, the napkin on his lap. Yuuri reached for his hand, fingers brushing his bare wrist. Victor flinched at the touch, drawing back.

“Victor—”

“It’s not that,” he said. “Please stop apologizing.” He couldn’t look Yuuri in the eye, he wanted to disappear, for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What?” Yuuri asked, clearly confused.

“ _I’m_ the one who’s fucked up. _I’m_ the one who’s lost you,” Victor continued. “ _I’m_ the one who’ll never be able to make it up to you.”

“I don’t understand.” Yuuri’s phone went off, buzzing against the table. He silenced it but it went off again almost immediately, forcing him to answer. “Yes, Sara, I know we’re leaving in twenty minutes.” He tossed the phone behind him on the bed and faced Victor again. “I don’t understand,” he repeated, confusion deep in his eyes.

Victor took a deep breath. “I’m iceprince-v.”

“I…still don’t understand,” Yuuri said.

Victor saw the second the realization hit Yuuri, the moment confusion was displaced by complete shock.

“Wait. What are you saying?”

“I wrote _Ice Prince_ fanfiction. I wrote _Kings of Winter_ ,” Victor said, swallowing drily and stealing little glances at Yuuri, afraid to fully face him.

“Victor,” Yuuri whispered, “ _what are you saying?_ ”

He didn’t respond, letting the heavy silence fall between them. Time froze—that second before the explosion, when everything stilled, electrified with anticipation. When you knew what was coming while knowing it was impossible to stop. Victor pictured it frame by frame: the small ball of fire forming in the middle of the room, its concussive force fanning out wave after wave, the splintering—then shattering—of the table, shrapnel flying through the air suspended in time and space, ready to tear him apart.

He closed his eyes for the impact, breathed a final sigh of resignation.

* * *

 

Even after Yuuri heard what Victor was saying, it took some time to convince him of the truth, for it to sink in, for him to really _understand_. Victor laid it all out the best he could in the limited time they had. He tried to stick to the facts, to dates and times. He explained to an utterly shocked and uncomprehending Yuuri how he’d felt then, at eighteen—still very much a kid—how scared he was, how much he looked up to Yuuri, how ashamed and awful he felt when he learned that something _he’d_ done had caused his favorite author to suffer.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Victor said over and over again. “You have to believe me.”

Yuuri sat back, expression blank as he absorbed all of this, ignoring the incessant screams of his phone.

“Say something?” Victor asked after he finished, eyes still brimming with tears.

Yuuri just stared at him unflinchingly, a storm building behind the impassive front he put up. Victor felt stripped to his core, soul bared before the man who had stolen his heart long ago.

“What is it that you expect me to say?” Yuuri’s eyes darkened, shoulders stiffening.

“I don’t know,” Victor said, the last wisps of hope evaporating into thin air.

Yuuri rose, finally answering his phone. “I’m sorry, Sara. We’ll be down in a few minutes. Promise.”

Victor stood, unsteady, buttoning his suit jacket.

“You said you never wanted to hurt me.” Yuuri pulled on his coat by the door with a almost practiced nonchalance. “But then you lied to me. For nearly two months.” Victor was astonished that Yuuri made no mention of the past, of what had transpired all those years ago.

“I—” There was so much Victor wanted to tell him. How he’d never thought he’d ever see Yuuri again after that first day, how he’d never thought they’d grow close, become what they were. How his initial equivocation had led to this awful moment—a small mistake that snowballed into a monster that had become too difficult to face. But he didn’t say any of that, filled with shame. Instead, he turned to look away, letting his hair fall like a curtain over his eyes.

Yuuri shook his head, jaw tight. He pushed down on the door handle, hesitated for just a second before pulling it open and leaving Victor behind in the cold, empty room.

* * *

 

“I asked the airline to make sure you were seated together. No switching necessary,” Sara said at the airport and Victor wanted to die. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy.” They were not, in fact, happy.

Victor sighed, expecting Yuuri would handle it, say something to undo the seat switch, banish Victor from his side, but Yuuri surprised him.

“Sorry, we’re just tired,” Yuuri said with a faint smile. “Thank you.”

They checked in, trudged through security, marched toward the gate together.

“Watch my stuff?” Yuuri said when they arrived, not waiting for an answer before he slipped back into the busy stream of travelers and disappeared. Fifteen minutes later, just as they had begun boarding, Yuuri returned with two coffees, handing one to Victor.

“Thank you,” Victor said, stunned.

Yuuri nodded in acknowledgement before slinging his shoulder bag on and leaving Victor behind to board.

Of their large contingent, only Sara, her assistant, Yuuri and Victor were flying back to New York. Everyone else either lived in LA or were continuing on to the Asian leg of the press tour. Yuuri had press to do in his adoptive city, a Today show interview and a signing at the Strand, among a few other things, before he too would rejoin the tour in Tokyo.

These few days were built into his schedule to allow him a short breather after the LA premiere. He'd get to sleep in his own bed for a few nights, do some laundry and reorganize, enjoy two full days off.

Victor watched as Yuuri held his phone under the ticket scanner before continuing down the ramp to the plane. He shook his head as if breaking from a daze. Like Yuuri, he was supposed to have a couple of days off before flying out to Tokyo. But now New York would undoubtedly be his final destination and this plane ride his last five hours with Yuuri Katsuki, famous author and now, ex-boyfriend. Victor took a deep breath and walked toward the gate agent.

He and Yuuri had been assigned to the first row of first class thanks to Sara who, with her assistant, sat in the second to last row of first class and on the opposite side. Which meant Victor couldn't even hope for their presence to mitigate any awkwardness.

He slid his suitcase into the overhead compartment and tucked his coat beside it, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat down next to Yuuri, who was stubbornly staring out at the tarmac.

Yuuri, who was so beautiful it hurt. Long dark lashes, warm expressive eyes, shy and reserved smile that at times burst into a free and open laugh.

Yuuri, who had kissed him first in London. Kissed him at the world premiere and the party after. In cars and hotel rooms. Under the spray of showers and under the cover of night on balconies.

It was going to be a long flight.

* * *

 

Yuuri was the first to break the silence after they'd been served lunch, when they dimmed the cabin lights.

“Was any of it real?” he asked.

Victor couldn’t meet his eyes, staring straight ahead. It was a question that plagued him too but not in the way Yuuri had meant. Whenever Yuuri looked at him in a certain way, whenever Yuuri kissed him, whenever Yuuri opened up to him, Victor couldn’t believe it was real. He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to wake up from a dream he didn’t belong in.

But that wasn’t what Yuuri was asking him now.

“My feelings for you are genuine,” he answered softly, eyes still averted.

“ _Are_ genuine,” Yuuri said, emphasizing the present tense and shaking his head. “I’ve been thinking, and the only conclusion I can possibly draw from this—this _situation_ is that it was all some elaborate revenge plot. And I have to admit, I fell for it, okay? So listen, you don’t have to lie to me anymore. When we get off the plane, we’ll go our separate ways and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Victor’s heart contracted painfully.

“You don’t have to pretend you like me. You can just tell me the truth and have one last laugh. I don’t mind. Go ahead.” Then, when Victor remained silent, he added, “Why’d you do it, Victor? Why’d you stay that first morning? On the outside chance that you weren’t interested in revenge, you must’ve hated me then, if what you said is true, about being hurt by me back then.”

That Yuuri would think so little of him broke his heart. It took every last ounce of strength for Victor to finally turn toward him, look him in the eye.

“The last person I expected to see that morning was you,” he said. Yuuri was right about one thing: if they were never going to see each other then Victor could tell him the truth. All of it. “I was curious, I guess. I’d been in love with you since I was twelve and it’d been a dream to meet you one day, so I stayed.”

“But you hated me.”

“I did,” Victor nodded slowly. “But more than anything, I hated the _idea_ of you. For so long, you’d been this monster in my head but as I got to know you, I—” Victor broke off, taking a deep breath. “You’re _not_ a monster at all. You’re kind and generous. You’re funny and you light up the room. The way I feel when I’m with you—I’ve never, ever felt like that. Before you, everything was so _gray_ but then you came into my life and it was like I was breathing again, like the whole world sharpened into focus.

“You want to know the truth? Here’s the truth: I _thought_ I hated you. But I didn’t hate you—I was angry. Angry about what’d happened five years ago, yes, but angry at myself most of all.”

“Why?” Yuuri looked at him intently, eyes burning a path to his very soul.

“I don’t know,” Victor answered truthfully. There was so much about that time in his life he still didn’t understand. Before the _Ice Prince_ books, he had felt trapped—by his parents’ deteriorating marriage, by his father’s expectations, by the boarding schools and the way he felt disconnected to anyone his own age. _Ice Prince_ had crash landed in the fallow field of his life, setting his world ablaze. He loved the story and characters but most of all, he loved _writing_ stories about these characters.

It hadn’t been the books or Yuuri Katsuki. It’d been about the writing, it’d always been about the writing. What began as an escape from his dreary existence grew into something that gave him purpose, something that pushed him out of bed in the morning and kept him up late at night.

Now, when Yuuri was asking him the tough questions, the only ones that mattered, it occurred to Victor that it hadn’t been the loss of the books he mourned. Of course it’d been devastating, the loss of the stories and characters and world, the loss of his friends and the fandom itself. But it went beyond that. It was the loss of the writing that had killed his spirit after his self-exile.

“I don’t know why,” Victor said even as he was beginning to understand what’d really happened. He _was_ angry at himself, for backing down when he knew he’d done nothing wrong. For abandoning writing fic altogether, for only writing original stuff intermittently and inconsistently, never able to finish anything.

For not believing in himself.

Instead, he shook his head, trying to free himself from these new revelations. He pulled back into himself, deflected: “Would you have let me stay, if I told you that first day?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said.

Silence stretched between them for the remainder of the flight, silence was a protective coating, a wall to hide behind.

* * *

 

Chris was waiting for him at the apartment but Victor didn’t want to talk, taking a shower and heading straight to bed.

 

C: Hey, I’m here when you want to talk.

C: I’m here if you don’t want to talk, if you just want to order takeout, open a bottle of wine, and watch trashy TV. 

 

Victor closed his eyes but sleep escaped him. He scrolled through his phone—nothing from Yuuri or anyone on the PR team. He checked social media, expecting to be kicked off of Yuuri’s accounts automatically only to be surprised when he found he still had access. Yuuri hadn’t changed the passwords or asked Sara to change them, but Victor was certain that it’d been an oversight, logging out and logging back in on his own account.

 

_@schmesa posted a video_

@schmesa: tfw you watch yuuri katsuki get wasted at his own premiere party :’D

@shiftyshar: no way. omg did he just DO THAT???

@schmesa: yep.

@vicious_summer: I think it’s kind of romantic

@schmesa: @vicious_summer it totally is! Everyone deserves a partner who drunkenly defends your honor to TMZ lmao

@lilywinterwood: omg I am LIVING. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating. Victor is kind and generous and the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m not going to stand around and let you call him a gold digger.”

@spookyfoot: @lilywinterwood you forgot the best part: “I don’t have a label for what we have but he’s the first thing I’ve ever wanted to hold on to.” im fuckin cry.

@lilywinterwood: @spookyfoot RIP all of us.

@getawaymachine: guys what about when they asked him where Victor was? “He’s not here because I fucked up and told him not to come. I thought I was protecting him from all of this but all I’ve done is drive him away and…Victor, I’m sorry.”

@sizhu: PROTECT THIS BOY OMG

@cryingoverspilledkatsudon: I would die for him tbh

@lucycamui: @cryingoverspilledkatsudon It would be an honor. Yuuri Katsuki is a national treasure.

@katsukiyuuristrophyhusband: this is what I get for being in the wrong time zone for everything. You think you’re safe sleeping for a few hours but no, Yuuri Katsuki goes and declares his love to the whole world.

@kaja-skowronek: @katsukiyuuristrophyhusband big mood. Also, are you going to have to give up that handle? Pretty sure that title belongs to Victor Nikiforov now XD

@katsukiyuuristrophyhusband: @kaja-skowronek Victor Nikiforov can pry it from my cold dead hands. I mean, I was here first, get in line lol.

@shslshortie: @kaja-sknowronke @katsukiyuuristrophyhusband but do we even know if Victor was a fan? I wouldn’t be shocked.

@shiftyshar: @shslshortie @kaja-sknowronke @katsukiyuuristrophyhusband omg what if he’s iceprince-v?

@schmesa: @shiftyshar are you kidding me

@shiftyshar: @schmesa what about the V in iceprince-v. THE PLOT THICKENS.

@schmesa: @shiftyshar NO THE PLOT DOES NOT THICKEN. Everyone knows the V is for 5. Why else would kaivanismyotp create an account under iceprince-vi to archive his stuff

@voxofthevoid: why does every single thread have to go down this road? Idgaf about iceprince-v or whatever idiotic conspiracy theory you guys are floating around.

@sizhu: @voxofthevoid Seconded. Seriously. Can’t we just enjoy the masterpiece that is Yuuri Katsuki in peace?

 

Victor stared at his phone in stunned silence, rubbing his eyes to make sure he’d read everything correctly. Then he watched the video, saw Yuuri lose his temper and scream at a Ryan Seacrest type, calling Victor the best thing that’d ever happened to him.

Sitting up and hugging his knees in, he curled in on himself, pressing his legs against his chest, hard. Maybe he’d really, truly fucked everything up. Why did he have to ruin things with the truth? It all happened five years ago, it didn’t mean anything anymore. He should’ve stayed quiet, he should’ve ignored the guilt gnawing his heart. Stupid, so very stupid.

 

V: Hey you still here?

C: Yeah, of course. I’m in my room, do you want me to walk over?

V: Can I take you up on that earlier offer?

C: I’m ordering takeout rn.

V: Okay. Please don’t make me talk about it.

C: Talk about what? ;)

 

They spent the rest of the day watching _Bojack Horseman_ and washing down greasy noodles and Mongolian beef with cheap wine.

“What happened?” Bojack’s girlfriend asked him as they were breaking up.

His response: “Same thing that always happens. You didn’t know me. Then you fell in love with me. And now you know me.”

Victor reached for the remote and turned the TV off, on the verge of tears.

“Damn,” Chris said, jumping up from his armchair to join Victor on the couch. “Hey, hey, hey. What happened?”

“Same thing that always happens. He didn’t know me,” Victor said, quoting the show, before Chris cut him off.

“Fuck. Wrong question,” he said and Victor choked out a short laugh.

“No,” he responded. “It was the right question.”

* * *

 

The following days blurred in and out of focus. He followed Chris around like a lost puppy, even tagging along to his law classes, so desperate to not be alone. The only place he didn’t go with Chris was on his dates with Daniel, even though Chris said it’d be fine. He spent those evenings out, walking the city’s grid or buying a ticket to watch _Frozen Dawn_ again and again.

Then, one night, a knock on the door came around two in the morning. It was late but Victor wasn’t asleep. He’d just begun to piece himself back together, putting away the wine glass and eating something other than takeout, but sleep still eluded him.

Another knock at the door, this time more persistent.

He swung his legs off the bed with a sigh and went to the door. It was probably a pizza guy at the wrong apartment again, one of the downsides of living in the city that never sleeps.

“We didn’t or—” Victor’s jaw dropped at the sight of Yuuri Katsuki standing before him. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

Yuuri looked equally shocked, as if he couldn’t believe he was here either. Hair disheveled, shirt mis-buttoned, scarf lopsided and barely hanging on, he was a certifiable mess, but Victor couldn’t help thinking that Yuuri was _his_ mess.

“How are you here right now?” Victor whispered, stepping back in confusion.

“I know it’s late, but I—“ Yuuri’s eyes swept over Victor’s body.

Victor followed his eyes, realizing he was in his boxers and nothing else. “I’ll go put on some clothes,” he said, blushing.

“Wait.” Yuuri caught his wrist, tugging him closer. “Just. Wait.” He ran a rough hand through his hair, as if shaking free from the last of his doubts. Then suddenly, they were both inside the apartment, Victor’s back slammed against the door, Yuuri pinning him there.

Victor marveled at Yuuri’s strength but before he had a chance to react, Yuuri was all over him—hands in his hair, body pressed hard against his, lips warm and needy. Victor had missed this even though it’d only been four days, had craved the feeling of Yuuri, of the heat and pressure building in the pit of his stomach, his feet unsteady beneath him, knees weak and collapsing.

He’d missed the weight of Yuuri’s body over his, their limbs tangled in bed, missed the feeling of being stretched open and filled by Yuuri again and again, his mind consumed only by an intense desire to give and receive pleasure. In the dark of his bedroom, Victor let himself be taken apart by Yuuri, each stroke unhurried yet desperate.

They exchanged few words, communicating only in the language of two bodies becoming one. Then Yuuri’s thrusts deepened at just the right angle and right before Victor lost himself completely, his eyes found Yuuri’s and held on, crying out when he came, Yuuri following close behind.

After, Victor couldn’t sleep, watching Yuuri curled up against him, spent and peaceful. He was guarding every second with Yuuri, a dragon and his gold, every moment precious.

In the dark with Yuuri in his bed, he could stay in the safety of the night, ignore the approaching sun and day of reckoning. In the dark with Yuuri by his side, he could pretend this would never end, that Yuuri would _always_ be by his side.

In the dark with Yuuri asleep, he could release his confession like sending up a prayer: “ _I love you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am really sorry it's taken so long to get an update out! For a little bit, it was work and other fic obligations, but to be honest, this chapter was just really hard for me to write. I hate seeing Victor and Yuuri in pain and blergh, this was a painful chapter. Thank you so much for your patience with me and for your continued support and interest in this fic! 
> 
> Special thanks to anyone who's commented--every time I felt like I'd waited too long to update and no one would even want another chapter, I went back and re-read your comments and it always lifted my spirits, so really, thank you. 
> 
> Next up: I don't want to give anything away? *runs and hides*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr: [@eternalsunshine13](http://www.eternalsunshine13.tumblr.com)  
> I'll post any updates about the fic tagged under "progress report".
> 
> All titles are lyrics from Lorde's amazing new album, Melodrama.


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